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Lately I have heard the noises in the silence. They are those of family, friends acquaintances who are mostly puzzled or unnerved or feel disquieted with my public openness.

The most recent of remarks comes from an individual who I have known for over 25 yrs. The most unique description I ascribe to this person is “the absence of being.”

A self professed scholar, and worldly voyager. By his own account a qualified medical professional.   In two and a half decades, there has been no concrete evidence that the very existence of this individual is verifiable.

 In hearing my deliberate truth of my life circumstance, I was told that his remark  was, “Poor Grace!!

During my divorced 30s I was involved with a Mohamed from. Somalia. He professed to be of royal lineage and in addition to attending Georgetown University Law School, and driving a cab for a living, he was able to afford the best Italian made suits for his weekend clubbing devotions.

Masked under the guise of pseudo debonair and as good looking as my deceased father
was , he possessed the sadistic chauvinism of a militant and abusive con artist.

This discovery was made after a over indulgent alcohol induced sleep, while snoring obnoxiously on my sofa and the wallet on his person happened to reveal a name and identity of someone other than who I was told I knew. Because of his dastardly abusive behaviors earlier, I came close to conceiving the slaughter of a rabid creature.

The, Mohamed, like every other asylum seeking Muslim refugee from East Africa as I pejoratively reference, and cohorts like my “absence of being” individual were the regulars of the weekend clubbing establishments when we first became acquainted.

The other synonym mired in the bosoms of concerned relations is Public Grace.

I don’t know about you. But these are the shoes I’ve been fitted with. I am walking a very jagged road strewn with calamitous pitfalls that begs for scrutiny and abject reasoning.

We’re I a medieval character I would be flogging myself to a blistered pulp, because lest I am destined for some kind of sainthood, I must be chosen for the, woe is me,challenges of the cross.

In modern day era of economic wellness and comparative necessities, I am bereft of tangible evidence of what matters and my lack of virtuous silence is not saintly

There is the ego seeking to carve a niche. By reading my blogs or viewing my 57 th birthday video there is a plethora of public information to garner bias, prejudice, pity or applause.Becoming Grace @ 57

In December 2012, the public Grace without apology elicited funding for assistance in a distressed SoS appeal to family and friends. Dressed stylishly elegant and presenting a picture of poised glamor, my truths may have looked suspiciously dubious.

My intimate family members and friends were the most critical, the most cynical and the most generous in thoughts, words and deeds.

Of all the mix of emotions and concerns, there was levity and humor. One family member shared..”to be so bold is most admirable, but if you plan to invite alms giving, at least look the part.”

Ultimately, I am Abundant Grace. I do not know if, why, how, what.

In recent months I have ached in symbiotic synergy in the perils of broken trusts as a witness in the journey of my own son’s choices, chances, mysteries.

We are sharing parallel experiences. The most constructive advice is given with the best intention. I am also guilty of volunteering my thoughts through negative vibrations. The most repeated recommendations are to stop being a mother. Though not in the exact words, but with the intended sentiment.

As I have been told, when I adopt a villain persona and presume that I can perpetrate a heinous act against an enemy, my son quickly reminds me, that it is not my nature.

When I look at the trees through each season, I am filled with awe and amazement. Trees that were dead twigs blossom in the Spring. Until they are no longer, they are cared for. Somehow, Mother Nature knows. And trees innately know they are never abandoned.

As I trod through all of my preambles, my sojourns are laden with many trials, hardships, fears and unknowns. The part of me that is innermost , that has no public appeal, persona or embodiment , lives, thrives, breathes only because I know, who is Abundant Grace. Without Abundant Grace, I will be shattered.

Therefore, but for Divine Grace, I am.