I whispered,’ I am too young.’
And then, ‘I am old enough.’
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I could love.
‘Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair.
O, penny,brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.
O, love is the crooked thing.
There is nobody wise enough,
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love,
Till the stars had run away,
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I think of you, in the beauty of spring,
blossoms falling from the flowering plums like pink snow…
The gurgling waters after a spring rain,
Seeing a flower raise its head above the soil.
I should be thinking of what summer holds-
for you-for your life, of what you deserved to have,
Instead, I kneal in the cool rain, asking why?
Why were you taken with no warning?
You, so good, so handsome, so loved.
Why did those who should have helped you, fail you-
Fail your family-why? A few words misspoken-
The wrong directions to 911-too much time for your heart.
I wear a badge forever now-“angel mom”-
Finally a word for what I am ,when none existed.
A widow-no, an orphan-no, just a woman
emploding with pain because you aren’t here.
I touch your photo each time I pass,
I hear your brother struggle to remember-
I wipe the tears from aging cheeks,
Youth lost amidst the ignorance and negligence.
You should be here-there was time.
I feel that when everyone failed you, failed me-
I should have pushed them away and known
That I had to be your heart until they came.
I want to see you as the young man you should be-
Hear your deeper laugh, see your young love grow.
I want the grandchildren you should have given me-
To hear them play, and smile-like you.
These things were stolen and cannot be replaced,
All I have left inside me is grief and anger,
That help was so close but did not know-
That someones world was dying while they waited.
I beg for you to come at night to comfort me,
But you are always young-knowing still,
That you will not grow old with your siblings.
Come to me as you should be-a man-strong, invincible.
Yesterday, I thought I felt you walking beside me.
I knew I could relish that feeling freely,
But was not allowed to look at your face,
I took a deep breath and was filled with your presence.
The car clattered along the road, shaded by the late afternoon’s trees. It seemed the dense forest would never end. I could hear the sound of water in the distance, even smell its freshness, but the water, a river, I presumed, never came into sight.
Frustrated, I asked the driver again. “Where is it we are going?”
Before he could answer, we rounded a sharp curve and a huge, lovely building came into view.
“Come on,” the driver said as he reached for my hand to help me out of the car. I took his hand, with a quizzical look on my face. “Why on earth, did he have you bring me here? ” I asked. “A church of some sort, a cathedral?” I asked.
“I am called Jamison.” The driver replied as we approached the granite steps to the huge, castle like building. “You may call me that.”
“Very well, Jamison,” I huffed. “Please tell my why on earth Uncle Bertram had you bring me here, and who am I to meet.”
He smiled, looking up at the turrets and towers along the buildings roof line and lead me through the dark wooden doors into a large room, lit mostly by sunlit.
“Where are we going?” I asked the driver my Uncle Bertram had hired to take me to meet a person that he referred to only as ‘someone special’.
“Ah!” He laughed. “So Old Bertram is still up to his tricks. There is nothing he loves more than to surprise his-(he cleared his throat) family!”
Most of the light coming through the windows, bu accented by a wealth of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling high above. Still, he did into answer my question.
As we walked towards the front of the room, I saw an elderly lady, kneeling at the front of the cathedral at an alter.
“Beatrice, I would like you to meet your niece, Lisette. Lisette, Beatrice is your Uncle Bertrams’ sister. She joined this order of the Catholic Church many years ago and has traveled the world as a missionary of sorts-a spokesperson for the church.”
“I see.” I whispered to Beatrice-Sister Beatrice, I presumed. “What is it that I can do for you?”
As she looked up at me for the first time, I was astonished by her beauty. The words, ‘Nun’ and ‘beautiful’ had never connected in my mind.
“Come,” she said, rose and took my hand. As we walked out the back door, I saw where the fragrance of water had come from. Before me a majestic man-made water fall flowed down a step-like structure into a circular pond below.
“What is this” I exclaimed. Sister Beatrice, looked at me and smiled. “This,” she said quietly and reverently, ” is your destiny.
This blog is generated from the prompt “Don’t Panic-photo prompt)
Once, I was volunteering at school.
my youngest son was in Peter Pan.
He didn’t like drama much-
I was working with kindergarden girls-
singing…giggling
I was late getting home
and you were standing at the door-
smiling at me, in your ball uniform.
“Oh, you scared me!” I smiled.
I didn’t know it was the last time
I would ever open my door
and see you standing there, smiling
See you there at all…
For me, life ended that night,
I sat and watched you practice,
almost took your picture, but you
seemed so far away-I never imagined
how far away you would be
in a few hours. Again, I almost did it-
took a picture, but it was getting dark
I never imagined it would be my last chance.
You held your head, and ran to me,
collapsing ina slide as you fell to the ground.
I screamed “Call 911, Call 911!”
How can a parent call 911 and tell them to go
five miles away to some ball complex?
You killed my son-taking 12 minutes
to find their way there when a fire station
was right above us? Why, “nurse”,
did you not recognize heart failure, do CPR?
Why didn’t I pump your heart, even though
I didnt know anything but your breathing
was raspy and an ambulance came
and the nurse just stood there when I screamed,
Cant you do something?
Why didnt I realize no sirene
was coming from the fire station?
When finally an ambulance came in the back way,
they knew they were given the wrong directions.
“Bag him” an EMT screamed, as they pulled out
a stretcher-I ran to the front of the ambulance
and got in, I saw them rushing to send currents into you
because your heart had stopped, because 911
had gotten the wrong directions.
A chaplain leads me away, it will always be with me
slow motion hell that you were dying-
they were too late, because somebody screwed up.
A decade ago, a slow motion nightmare-
I wanted to die too-A lot of me did-forever,
I wanted all the people who begged you to play
to hurt like I did-to die like you did.
God forgive me, I have yet to change my mind.
I leaned on your little brother, till he grew up
and had to find his own life, you were
A vague memory, someone he should have had
to guide you,, teach you, love you,
And he has only flashes of memories,
looking in album,hearing us talk,
or maybe a sharp breath as he awakes
from his nightmare, again, and again…forever.
I see myself now as an empty soul,
robbed of my most beautiful memories,
because you didn’t want to disappoint friends.
Beni-hana, you will never know how much
it has meant that you did not beg him to play,
that you have listened to me, wrote songs for us,
that he is still alive to you as he is to me.
Some like to say these “God did this or needed that”
and I want to scream, “God wasn’t there!”
My health gone, the pain worse everyday,
People think time will heal that you were stolen.
Never on this side of hell will that happen.
I needed you, God gave you to me,
He did not take you away, negligence did.
I cannot pray, I cannot forgive, I need you,
and nothing will ever change that.
My beautiful son, you were so amazing-
different , special, your love was beyond compare.
One day, I will open a door, and
you will be there, smiling, and I will hold you,
and never ever let you go again.
I remember those magical days-
children running in from the bus
to see what new presents
had suddenly appeared under the tree.
I remember the magic of lights-
the “oohs and ahhhs” as the switch came on.
The weeks of “what I want for Christmas”
coming from innocent souls.
Then the chorus of “and that’s all…”
followed by several more favorites.
Yesterday, my babies, my life-
The Joy on their faces, on my face as well.
Today, I lay here alone, a tree with no presents.
Sits in a “living room” no one plays in.
I pick up a sick grandchild from school,
Drive by a graveyard-when one of them lies.
I wonder, today, with life having little meaning,
how those days, when we were so poor,
when those “wants” really did magicially appear.
If it is worth it now, the memories, all I have.
My sick heart pounds, the hot tears roll,
down lonely cheeks as teens tell me
“I won’t be home after school, I have to hurry.”
There are dinner and parties, friends, life.
Please remember, children of today,
that life goes by so fast, that todays’ kids
are tomorrows adults, with kids of their own.
And we, who once were so needed and loved.
Have grown old as my babies grew up.
I put up a tree, as my youngest insisted.
But no joy of a new present hiding there today.
Just memories, the awareness of time rushing by…
Like the old Scrooge Tale, it is-
Christmas Past, Present, Future.
I must remember that life moves on, even if
it drags me kicking and screaming.
Since I was only 19 years old, sitting in a frayed chair,
I have loved looking down upon a sweet head,
of soft,curly hair, stroking it, as it mixed with my own.
That was the incomparable joy of motherhood.
A sleepy head upon my shoulder, or laying beside me,
a soft, even breath when sleep finally came and I could rest.
I would lovingly touch their sleepers of pink or blue,
as I laid them beside me, watching them as they dreamed.
“It’s hard to be someone’s everything.” I told my friend.
A young mom too, she laughed and said, “But so sweet!”
In those difficult times, I though,how true it was,
To be wrapped in the joy of life’s greatest pleasure-motherhood.
Now, I am not young, and have spent nearly 40 years,
with a soft head of hair in many colors, and textures
laying beside me, or on my shoulder, they all loved being loved.
For me to rub their backs or heads as their eyes closed for the night.
We have been through so much, over the years-
the unimaginable joy of new life and the unspeakable sorrow
of the loss of a child, and still, running my hand through
each child’s hair has remained an unforgotten blessing.
Today, I walked into my teens room, music playing quietly,
and saw him lying there with her head on his shoulder,
His girl, not me, and I found it hard to hold back the tears
as I walked away knowing those days would soon end.
Yes, I would rub the heads of my many grandchildren,
such beautiful, soft hair, I touched and remembered.
But it wasn’t the same. I would lay them in their bed,
or take them to their home. Leaving me here, alone.
If only I could be young again, tired again, I thought.
Running my hand through silky hair, and knowing,
that this tiny act of love between us was so precious,
would one day be only a sweet memory, but not,
I hoped, today…..
beebeesworld 