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As The Blossoms Shed in April

April 23, 2016 · Filed under changes, coping, dreams, grandchildren, grief, heartbreak, nostalgia, remembrance, Uncategorized, youth · Tagged angel mom, loss, love, spring

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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.

Comments (10) »

Reflections of Life’s Passages (click song at end to listen while you read)

February 6, 2015 · Filed under acceptance, children, Cushing's Disease, determination, life, loss, love, memories, nostalgia, recovery, strenght, understanding · Tagged acceptance, change, children, Cushings Disease, grandchildren, growing old, healing, life's changes, loss, love

The mirror reflects back a “me” that I no longer know. She isn’t young, My health was decimated by the loss of a child. Even my youngest child has a car, a job and a girlfriend now. The years since I lost my son and health have completely changed me. I have known this for a long time, but held out hope that time would at least partially repair the wounds .Allow me to explain the crisis that lead to these reflections.

I have come to a point where I do not see that happening. I raised six children. Raising them, loving them, teaching them was not only my dream, it was my life. I home-schooled them on vacations, Saturdays and in summer. The youngest one was home-schooled full time for several years. With a large family, there is little time to worry about what “you” want or even need. I lost my best friend to cancer when we were 48-two years before I lost my son.

I worked in the children’s schools as they grew up, as an assistant, a volunteer, and a substitute. My life was filled with ball games, dance lessons, band and activities that revolved around them. Since i was a stay-at home mom in summer, I would have up to 14 kids at my house in one day. I admit it was hectic. I suffer from migraines and it often took everything I had to be the kid of mom I strived to be,

Even today, my kids say that I was a terrific mom, that now as parents themselves, they don’t see how I did it. I worked my way through a university while raising two kids as a single parent. It seems I found endless energy and patience somewhere. I only wish I could find that place today.

When I lost my health from Cushing’s Disease, it was determined to be from the trauma of my loosing my son. Being a mother WAS my life. Loosing him was unthinkable, unbearable. It was at a time when my older kids were going to school, getting married, having their first child, and I was at that age a woman faces when she realizes that “youth” is no longer with her. My grief, my problems were not recognized by anyone but me. I would hear, “It’s natural that you are greived over your son, that your children moving away is difficult, but you will, in time adjust.” I didn’t believe it then, and when I had heart failure eight months after my childs death, I knew that I had been right all along. I really was sick. The heart doctor started doing tests and wrote a report to my regular doctor that month, saying that I had the classic symptoms of Cushing’s and should see an endocrinologist. Evidently, my regular doctor never read it. When I went to my cardiologist in January and he asked me what the endocrinologist had said, I told him that I had never been referred to one. He was astounded. I ordered a copy of my medical records from my regular doctor, and there, right on top was the letter from my cardiologist. Apparently, it had never even been read, just stuck in my file.

The cardiologist immediately sent me to an endocrinologist and after many test, Cushing’s Disease (sometimes called Cushing’s Syndrome) was confirmed. She told me the only way to get well was pituitary surgery, which meant going into my head through my sinuses, and into the area right below my brain, where the pituitary gland sits. I was terrified. Why was all his happening to me -loosing my son and then my health as well?

When I was finally accepted at an out of state facility for pituitary surgery, I was told that the tumor was wrapping around my carotid artery and I would have probably had less than 3 weeks to live. It had now been a year and a half since my son died. Not long after he died, I started a slow process of gaining weigh, although I couldn’t eat and watching my long hair thinning out, I was nauseous all the time. I could hardly walk, using a cane to steady myself. It took months after the surgery to even begin to recover. The joyful events I should have been enjoying had been taken from me, yet I felt that no one could really comprehend what I was going through.

As I mentioned, my youngest child was only eight years old when his brother died, He was my rock. He needed me, he didn’t care if I didn’t have a lot of energy, he played with friends, with siblings, and most of all supported me. Now, he, too has grown up. I wonder, tearfully , how much he remembers about his brother. They were so close. His brother and I were so close. When the time came for my son to get his drivers license, he was going to college in the afternoons and high school in the morning. He started dating, and, like all children growing further away from needing mom.

I continued to try to make a small garden. I had been taught the love of gardening as a child and loved sharing the study of nature, plants, insects, amphibians, reptiles and even arachnids with my children. Even when pregnant, working and and tired, I would find time to have a large garden. It soothed my soul. I could enjoy the bounty of anything from spring strawberries to autumn pumpkins. Now, I was so weak, I could hardly make it to my garden. I was not able to work in it long at a time. I watched as my beautiful garden got less and less attention.

Cushing’s affects your whole body, especially if left untreated as long as mine was. My endocrinologist described my bones as like “chicken bones”-terribly fragile. I broke my hip in a simple fall simply because I went down at an odd angle on my fragile leg. My digestive system has continued to be a problem. I feel sick when I eat, I have severs scoliosis and and in constant pain. from my neck and back to my hips. My feet are numb, my face is numb from the pituitary surgery, my hip has cramps so bad, i can only compare it to natural childbirth-without the joy of your baby at the end of the immense pain. Even though I have made some improvements in my strength, I know I will always have the symptoms of Cushings knocking at the door. For a time, It took small steps and a cane or holding on to something to navigate a room, My goal was to reach my son’s grave, on a hillside, without help. I felt like I was climbing a mountain, but one day, I made it and it became a place of solace for me. I find letters and mementoes there from others-his many friends, even now, after eight years,a wedding invitation, a Carolina memento, a black rose. I put Victorian statuettes of a mom and son watching younger children sleigh ride, or laid a baseball there, maybe holiday rememberances. Even though I never liked baseball, he died between innings in a game he didn’t want to play, so I had “Safe at Home” carved on his black obsidian stone to help us remember that his last hit was one of the best he ever made. Many years ago, I put a heavy chain with eight links on it around the flower pot-to symbolize that there would always be eight people in our family. I find messages from him there, I have written about them in other blogs-things only he and I would understand. Black widow spiders that we studied, dimes,(that one is secret), feathers from a bird killed by predators.

Every day is a struggle. I feel like I was cheated out of enjoying the years of my other children’s lives when they were maturing, going to college, marrying, having their own children, living, laughing, just regular things. I am having a difficult time accepting that my youngest child is not now, that youngster who helped me so much and needed me-no matter how poor my health is. Now tthat he is older, I depend on him for other things. He is just doing what young people do-grow up, just as my older kids were doing when their brother was so wrongly taken. I know that, but it still hurts. I have to find the strength to do things with him that I am often not really able to do. I have had to learn not to expect to be “mommy” after 40 years. It is more difficult than I can describe.

Looking into the mirror of my life’s struggles has affected me in many ways. I think of my friend who died at 48, after struggling with cancer for 15 years and I am thankful that I was a least here to witness the maturing of my family. I fight the anxiety and stress of not being able to do for my family what my heart longs to do. I smile when my older children sing the songs to their kids that I sang to them, or one of them remembers a book we read together. I walk in the park with them as they tell them the names of insects and flowers we studied so many years ago.

I have given up on having even the people who love me, and that I love, truly understand what I have been through and why I am less patient, more emotional, not as strong as I once was. I can only hope that one day, when they remember “me”, they remember the “me” that I was when I had all of my children, when I was young, healthy and strong. I hope that as all of us grow older and struggle to keep up with the things that made us who we are, that our children, our loved ones, realize that those thing are still there, inside of us. Our hearts have not changed, our love is just as strong, even when our bodies have failed us.

Once in a while, I have a good day, and can almost do the things I once did. What a joy to be “me”, if only for a while. I still listen to my Lynyrd Skynyrd and other Southern Rock music. I still love long hair and blue jeans. I am still me. Those who know me, please, remember that. Inside, I am strong, proud, loving. Outside, I still manage an incredible amount of accompishments, difficult, though they may be. If the sun is covered by clouds, it is still there. I am still there. Remember that.

Comments (10) »

The Last, Sweet Taste of “Mine”

January 11, 2015 · Filed under children, jugs, letting go, love, love as it matures, sharing, smiles, teehagers · Tagged children, dreams, family, growing up, kindness, love, teenagers, thoughfulness, times changing

My youngest son, I have endured so much,

loosing your brother, my parents, my health…

And all of that time, you have been here,

to give me the will to live, against all odds.

Now you are driving, dating, and someone else

is the love of your life. It hurts, but it is “life”.

The moments you come in and lay beside me,

let me rub your back or hair, whisper to me,

“I love you, mama.” and mean it, are so precious.

You envite me to go out with you and your friends,

You laugh with me, talk with me, tell me secrets.

I find myself wiping tears every day at loosing you-

as MY BABY, “MINE”. me-being number one in your life.

I’ve known in my heart that it would happen,

but not so soon, not so fast. My heart is broken,

yet I have to try and savor those days we had-

Those last sweet tastes of “Mine”, that I cherish.

I can only hope you will always find room

in your life for me-stay close, share those hugs.

I have your siblings and they love me,

but you are my baby and have breathed

life into a mom who was dying of grief.

Those Last Sweet Taste of “Mine” will never leave me.

Enjoy every second of any child you may have,

because while growing goes slowly for them,

it races by for you. You will always love them

in a way that is different from how they love you.

You would give them your life without thought,

Your last crumb of food or drink of water.

I love you my son, all of my children, with all I have.

My teen in heaven, you will always live in my heart.

My teen that is still here with me, messes and all-

To see you walk in the door, lay down your coat down

and crawl up to me with a hug and “How are you?”

Is still, will always be life its self to me, my child.

I dream of you, perhaps sometime, you might let me

sneak quietly into your dreams or even reality

and plant a flower or walk around the lake.with me.

We can never have too much love, and I will never

forget the love you gave that kept me alive.

My youngest son, I have endured so much,

loosing your brother, my parents, my health…

And all of that time, you have been here,

to give me the will to live, against all odds.

Now you are driving, dating, and someone else

is the love of your life. It hurts, but it is “life”.

The moments you come in and lay beside me,

let me rub your back or hair, whisper to me,

“I love you, mama.” and mean it, are so precious.

You envite me to go out with you and your friends,

You laugh with me, talk with me, tell me secrets.

I find myself wiping tears every day at loosing you-

as MY BABY, “MINE”. me-being number one in your life.

I’ve known in my heart that it would happen,

but not so soon, not so fast. My heart is broken,

yet I have to try and savor those days we had-

Those last sweet tastes of “Mine”, that I cherish.

I can only hope you will always find room

in your life for me-stay close, share those hugs.

I have your siblings and they love me,

but you are my baby and have breathed

life into a mom who was dying of grief.

Those Last Sweet Taste of “Mine” will never leave me.

Enjoy every second of any child you may have,

because while growing goes slowly for them,

it races by for you. You will always love them

in a way that is different from how they love you.

You would give them your life without though,

Your last crumb of food or drink of water.

I love you my son, all of my children, with all I have.

My teen in heaven, you will always live in my heart.

My teen that is still here with me, messes and all-

To see you walk in the door, lay down your coat down

and crawl up to me with a hug and “How are you?”

Is still, will always be life its self to me, my child.

I dream of you, perhaps sometime, you might let me

sneak quietly into your dreams or even reality

and plant a flower or walk around the lake with me.

We can never have too much love, and I will never

forget the love you gave that kept me alive.

My youngest son,I have endured so much,

loosing your brother, my parents, my health…

And all of that time, you have been here,

to give me the will to live, against all odds.

Now you are driving, dating, someone else

is the love of your life. It hurts, but it is “life”.

The moments you come in and lay beside me,

let me ruvb your back or hair, whisper to me,

“I love you, mama.” and mean it, are so precious.

You envite me to go out with you and your friends,

you laugh with me, talk with me, tell me secrets.

I find myself wiping tears every day at loosing you-

as MY BABY, MINE. me being number one in your life.

I’ve known in my heart that it would happen,

but not so soon,not so fast. My heart is broken,

yet I have to try and savor those days we had-

Those last sweet tastes of “Mine”, that I had.

I can only hope you will always find room

in your life for me-stay close,share those hugs.

I have your siblings and they love me,

but you are my babby and have breathed

life into a mom who was dying of grief.

Those Last Sweet Taste of “Mine” will never leave me.

Enjoy every second of any child you may have,

because while growing goes slowly for them,

it races by for you. You will always love them

in a way that is different from how they love you.

You would give them your life without though,

‘Your last crumb of food or drink of water.

I love you my son, all of my children with all I have.

My teen in heaven, you will always live in my heart.

To see you walk in the door, lay down your coat don

and crawl up to me with a hug and “How are you?”

Is still, will always be life itsself to me, my child

I dream of you, perhaps sometime, you might let me

sneak quietly into your dreams or even reality

and plant a flower or walk around the lake with me.

We can never have too much love, and I will never

forget the love you gave that kept me alive.

Comments (9) »

Winter Alone

November 24, 2014 · Filed under acceptance, cold, dreaming, embers, fire, love fading, memories, winter · Tagged 70's music, aging, cold, dreaming, growing apart, ice, love, marriage, satisfaction, time passing, wind, winter, wordpress, young love

I listen to a cold wind blowing-

ice crystals like music,

ring against my windows.

The quiet disturbs me,

even as I read a well loved book,

sip hot tea, remember…

Winter-with its chill enveloping me,

with the whistling of the wind,

seems so much colder without you.

I remember days, when we cuddled

the warmth of our bodies dispelled the cold.

The wind and ice was almost comforting.

It made me realize that I was warm,

in spite of the cold, the blowing wind,

ice crystals decorating the trees outside.

I wonder where those days have gone?

You are in one room, me in another.

We barely speak. This is not love.

We look around and see nothing better,

nothing more enticing than simply home,

a familiar place, warm under electric blankets.

Over thirty years and what are we?

A couple-maybe from the eyes of others.

We are just two people in one house.

I cannot even imagine it being any better,

for us to cuddle, to whisper sweet words.

So this is how it ends? Together, alone.

Could I love again? Could you?

Would we even want to take the chance?

Or would we rather just lay safely?

Knowing how love hurts, how loss hurts

and not being willing to a the risk?

Dreaming of “what if?” but never finding out.

listen to a cold wind blowing-

ice crystals like music,

Winter Alone

I listen to a cold wind blowing-

ice crystals like music,

ring against my windows.

The quiet disturbs me,

even as I read a well loved book,

sip hot tea, remember…

Winter-with its chill enveloping me,

with the whistling of the wind,

seems so much colder without you.

I remember days, when we cuddled

the warmth of our bodies dispelled the cold.

The wind and ice was almost comforting.

It made me realize that I was warm,

in spite of the cold, the blowing wind,

ice crystals decorating the trees outside.

I wonder where those days have gone?

You are in one room, me in another.

We barely speak. This is not love.

We look around and see nothing better,

nothing more enticing than simply home,

a familiar place, warm under electric blankets.

Over thirty years and what are we?

A couple-maybe from the eyes of others.

We are just two people in one house.

I cannot even imagine it being any better,

for us to cuddle, to whisper sweet words.

So this is how it ends? Together, alone.

Could I love again? Could you?

Would we even want to take the chance?

Or would we rather just lay safely?

Knowing how love hurts, how loss hurts

and not being willing to a the risk?

Dreaming of “what if?” but never finding out.

ring against my windows.

Warmth from the roaring flames

growing lower, the crackling quieter now.

just embers, flashing from the fireplace.

The quiet comforts me,

Winter Alone

I listen to a cold wind blowing-

ice crystals like music,

ring against my windows.

The quiet disturbs me,

even as I read a well loved book,

sip hot tea, remember…

Winter-with its chill enveloping me,

with the whistling of the wind,

seems so much colder without you.

I remember days, when we cuddled

the warmth of our bodies dispelled the cold.

The wind and ice was almost comforting.

It made me realize that I was warm,

in spite of the cold, the blowing wind,

ice crystals decorating the trees outside.

I wonder where those days have gone?

You are in one room, me in another.

We barely speak. This is not love.

We look around and see nothing better,

nothing more enticing than simply home,

a familiar place, warm under electric blankets.

Over thirty years and what are we?

A couple-maybe from the eyes of others.

We are just two people in one house.

I cannot even imagine it being any better,

for us to cuddle, to whisper sweet words.

So this is how it ends? Together, alone.

Could I love again? Could you?

Would we even want to take the chance?

Or would we rather just lay safely?

Knowing how love hurts, how loss hurts

and not being willing to a the risk?

Dreaming of “what if?” but never finding out.

Love is an ember now, but Ice is still cold.

Comments (7) »

To Be Someone’s Everything

November 12, 2014 · Filed under babies, childhood, comfort, dreams, grandparents, love, memories, nostalgia, parenting · Tagged babies, childhood, children, joy, love, memories, motherhood, rest, sleep, tired

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…..

Comments (6) »

Going Home

September 20, 2014 · Filed under children, compassion, death, fiction, genealogy, grandchildren, healing, holidays, home and homemaking, memories, wordpress, writing, youth · Tagged children, forgiveness, genealogy, going home, love, nostalgia, relatives, reminiscing, youth

Jen drove slowly down the old dirt drive. “There aren’t many dirt roads or long driveways left,” she thought. She hadn’t seen her great aunt Sarah in many years. All sorts of excuses rushed through her brain as she got closer to the lovely old farm house at the end of the driveway. “I’ve lived too far away, I’ve been so busy, I haven’t seen her since I was a child,”she thought, then guiltily threw each excuse aside.

She had not taken the time-period. Now, she was 27 years old, a high school history teacher, engaged to be married and she could surely have thought of more valid excuses than those. But something had tugged at her heart. She had come to Alabama to tour a local schools system for a study she was conducting. Remembering that Aunt Sarah lived in this county, she looked her up in the phone book. Surprisingly, she was still listed.

She got out her I-phone and turned on the app that showed her a map to the little town of Rosewood and soon found Cornfield Lane right off the main road. “What would she say?” she wondered as she pulled up the two story house with a wrap around porch. Would Aunt Sarah remember her, welcome her, or would she be treated with disdain?

Jen remembered that Aunt Sarah, her mother’s aunt, had been married, had 3 children and then her husband had died at a fairly early age. She didn’t think she had remarried, because her name was still the same in the phone book. It seems the children would be about her mother’s age, probably with grandchildren of their own.

With her heart beating quickly inside her chest, she parked her Maroon Chevy Van near the house and walked towards the door. It was nearly Halloween, and even in Alabama, there was a nip of autumn in the air. Jen, pulled her sweater around her as she walked up the old brick sidewalk. Before she started up the steps, an elderly lady walked out onto the porch. The screen door creaked as it closed behind her.

“Why, Jenny!” The lady exclaimed. “Jenny Markham! Is that you?”

“It’s me, alright, Aunt Sarah.” Jen said with a blush. “I have no excuse for not having seen you in so long. It makes those Christmas cards seem awfully pitiful.”

“Well, don’t you think a thing about it,” Aunt Sarah said with a smile as she opened the door and motioned for Jen to come in. Jen obliged, remembering the high ceilings and the slightly old scent of the wooden house. She looked around and smiled. It was as if she had been here only a short time ago.

“Come on in here and let me make us some tea,” Aunt Sarah smiled as she lead Jen to the room behind the living room. Sarah stood and looked around at her Great Aunt’s kitchen. The same long table and chairs sat upon the worn tiles, the curtains were new, but of similar pattern, an autumn harvest with ruffled bottoms around the windows which hung over the sink and the one on the slightly opened back door. It brought back memories of her mother and rest of their big family coming here for watermelon on the Fourth of July when she was young.

“It sure is good to see you, Jenny!” Aunt Sarah smiled. “What on earth brought you way out here in backwoods Alabama?”

Jenny told her about her research project, career and upcoming marriage, inviting her long-lost cousins and families to come. Aunt Sarah sat and sipped tea with her for maybe half an hour before she invited her to come through the house and see the walls and dark walnut dressers filled with pictures of her children, grandchildren and even their kids. Again, Jen’s heart beat rapidly inside her as she took in the years and memories that she had missed out on when her father had taken a new job in East Texas.

She wondered what her life would have been like if they had stayed here. Would her and her brother’s kids been friends with Aunt Sarah’s children, would they have ridden the same bus, lived on the same road, had watermelon on that worn front porch on the fourth of July? Would she already be married, maybe to someone she knew as a child.?

Thoughts swirled through her head as the “what if’s” rushed by. What was the name of the high school here? What college would she have gone to? Would she have been a teacher, like she was now? It was at that moment Jen decided not to tell her Aunt Sarah her secret. She would save it until after the wedding, it would seem better then.

Inside her, Jen felt the movement of her baby, a girl, she had learned just yesterday. She wondered how Aunt Sarah would feel about her being pregnant before her marriage and then grabbed her Aunt’s wrinkled hand. Of course, she would love this baby, just like all the other children that decorated her dressers and walls. Surely, out of all of them, there had been children conceived before their parents married. Perhaps their parents had never married at all.

After a long visit, Jen walked back to her car with Aunt Sarah and her collie, Barney, beside her. She promised her Aunt that she would never let their families loose touch again, and she meant it. In Aunt Sarah’s younger days, having a baby before marriage would have brought many cross looks and perhaps even a few rejections. But this, thank goodness as a different time.

Jen vowed to herself that she would write her aunt a letter and tell her more about her soon-to-be husband and the baby she was carrying as soon as she got back to Texas. There was one more thing she would ask of the Aunt she had just come know again. She would ask her to allow her the honor of naming her new baby, Sarah.

“Why, Jenny!” The lady exclaimed. “Jenny Markham! Is that you?”

“It’s me, alright, Aunt Sarah.” Jen said with a blush. “I have no excuse for not having seen you in so long. It makes those Christmas cards seem awfully pitiful.”

“It sure is good to see you, Jenny!” Aunt Sarah smiled. “What on earth brought you way out here in backwoods Alabama?”

Comments (1) »

The Heart of a Man

August 31, 2014 · Filed under integrity, struggles, wordpress, writing, youth · Tagged breaking up, deception, life, love, men vs. women, sadness, sorrow

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The Heart of A Man

We can move like the waves on the ocean,

Or dance, with only the moonlight

shadows reflecting the land.

I can feel like I love you completely,

But, still, I cannot understand

why I always feel love is hiding

deep in the heart of a man.

Across hills, we can journey together,

our souls become one with the light.

The whispers of autumn approaching,

yet we lie like two strangers at night.

For miles, we have traveled this highway,

and still I do not understand

what keeps the emotions so silent

In the heart of a man.

reprinted from beebeesworld Fall 2012-one of my favorites. Its been a rough week, but I wanted my friends to know I;m still out here, new friends please read some of my old entries listed on my home page!

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Fresh Flowers on the Grave

June 8, 2014 · Filed under awards and prompts, children, memories, mystery, nature studies, nostalgia, prompts, struggles, Uncategorized, wordpress, writing, youth · Tagged Black Widow Spiders, flowers, graves, grief, love, memories, nostalgia, Red Writing Hood, wordpress, Write on Edge

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

I walked up the hill as I so often did. My 15-year-old son rested there with a black obsidian stone that we had ordered from Africa standing guard. Many people had left mementos over the 7 ½ years since that night of hell when we lost him. There were tiny figurines, glass etchings, a link of chains with the number of people who were supposed to be in our family, notes, items from his favorite ball teams. Then, along with Christmas ornaments and coins, we kept a vase of artificial flowers.

Ironically, I often found black widow spiders on the flowers or near the stone. Since I study arachnids, it was like a special message from me-one that spoke of the anger we both felt from the loss of his life through mistakes and excuses. When I looked at other graves in the large cemetery, I found only one other place with a black widow spider-my mother’s grave.

As I walked up the hill on this early summer day, I noticed a new container of flowers sitting in front of the stone. They were light orange with delicate leaves dancing in the breeze. As I reached the grave, I realized that the flowers were fresh. It was unusual to find fresh flowers on a grave that was not a new grave because they do not last long in the heat and wind.

I knelt down to look at a small note attached to the vase that held the flowers. On the front , I could see a set of fading initials-it had rained the night before and I couldn’t read them. As I turned the little note over, I saw a delicate pink heart. I smiled. He never got the chance to experience true love, but after all these years, someone still loved him, thought of him. Without coming to a conclusion about who the flowers were from, I smiled, ran my fingers across his name as I always did and knelt down by the stone, whispering, “I love you.”

I was reminded of something my grandfather used to tell me. “As long as someone loves you, and remembers what you loved and dreamed, you will never be forgotten.” The scent of fresh flowers wafted in the air. For just a moment, I was with him and this time, we were not alone.

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Winter’s Fate

March 18, 2014 · Filed under children, fiction, fiction/poetry, home and homemaking, memories, poetry and quotes, prompts, struggles, Uncategorized, weaponry, wordpress, writing · Tagged anger, fear, hope, hunger, hurt, loneliness, love, lovers, memories, prompts, Red Dress Club, sorrow, winter, Write on Edge

She wiped the tears upon her dress.

“I’ll take no more.” She did confess.

As he stood staring at the sky. He whispered to her, “Darling, why?”

“You leave when autumn’s just begun with furs, and grains and many guns. You stay until the melting snow drives you back home, more crops to grow.”

“I must.” he told her, gun in hand. “to sell our furs and crops again.”

“It does not take four months of cold to travel there and back, I’m told.”She glared at him with angry eyes as clouds approached in autumn’s skies.

“But weather makes the trip back home to dangerous to make alone.” She listened not to his protest, and brushed the dust from her worn dress.

“The children need you, so do I. I cannot bear to watch one die, the way I did this season past, with no one here to help the rest.”

“I know.” He bowed his ruddy head. “I’ll find some other way instead.”

“John Griffith takes the trail nearby.” She told him through her misty eyes.

“Then I will ask if he will go, with me, through ice and cold and snow.” He walked to her, the children came. They gathered there, out of the rain.

“Tomorrow, I will go to town and look until I hunt him down.” He smiled and drew her near his chest.

She felt the heat of his warm breath, and knew this winter, they would stay, but not alone, sick and afraid.

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The Most Difficult Job

March 13, 2014 · Filed under children, genealogy, grandchildren, history, home and homemaking, hope, humor, integrity, memories, nature studies, nostalgia, postaday, seasons, struggles, Uncategorized, writing, youth · Tagged children, grandchildren, growing up, happiness, hope, letting go, love, memories, nostalgia, Parenting, pleasure, raising children, shopping with children, sick children, wordpress

In my 58 years, I have had six kids. Raising them, loving them, being their mom was the greatest joy of my life. Sadly, I lost a son at age 15 from a sudden heart event during a baseball game. But this is not about him, it is about all children.

I look at my grandchildren now, and see their innocence, their joy at pleasing me, their “Beebee”. I walk in parks with them and their moms, along with my youngest son. It brings back such wonderful memories. We laugh, I take pictures of them climbing fallen trees, seeing fish or turtles or a red-headed ducks out on the lake. A bug skitters by and elicits a squeal from one of them. A snail, slowly making his way across the boardwalk delighting a grandson.

Besides the horror of loosing a child, one of the most difficult things a parent has to do is teach them to be adults, to allow them to grow up. When your child can fix his own lunch or lay our her own clothes(and they match!) is one of our first lessons in letting go. Of course, even before that, going to the potty alone or cleaning up a mess is a step in that direction. Believe me, it gets more difficult.

When your life has been centered on being the best mom that you could be, it is a tearful adventure to hear your youngest child talking about his plans for his future. For 38 years, I have had our own form of home-school on Saturdays, in summer, or even on school vacations. We have walked the paths of Gettysburg and splashed in the waves of beaches from Santa Barbara to cape Hatteras. It gos by so fast.We have been on educational trips, anywhere from the mountains at our doorstep to the Grand Canyon or Washington D.C..

Suddenly, the oldest will not come along and a new one will ride in a stroller. Perhaps some of the older “kids’ will meet you at your vacation spot with a car full of their friends. For a while, it is simply a milestone, and then your little group becomes smaller and smaller. They choose what they want to do on the trip, even where they want to go. You realize that the best days, the most precious days are rushing by, and a tear often trails a mothers cheek.

I have been through a lot, I will not try to put these ordeals, good or bad in numerical order. I will simply say this to those of you who still cuddle sleeping babies, go to “Kindergarten Parents Night”.

gently stroke feverish heads with a cool damp cloth-to breathe in every second, every sleepless night, every leap of joy when the school bus comes home, because, soon, they will be gone.

I picked up my teen at school today with a stomach virus, all ready to comfort him, bring him cool drinks, obsessively check on him, all those “mom” things that we learn to do, and realize that the ride home was all he really needed. He will get his license soon and independence is on the horizon.

Oh, he appreciated the kind words, the stokes of my hand through his hair, the cold drinks or peeps into his room, but I could tell that his smile of appreciation was more for my benefit than for his.

One feeling that I know I will keep with me forever is the joy of being needed, loved, appreciated by a child. There is nothing like it. I will still talk my teen into taking the grandchildren that I keep after school to the store and let him hold their hands and escort them to the toy section while I shop. I will ask him to go with us to the park and go to the grocery store with me. But I know, that it is my son, now, who is going for my pleasure, rather than me going for his. It is his joy at seeing me smile that that makes the day so fine. It is his reaching for the keys as we get in the car that makes me smile back.

I look at him with pure pleasure, 6 foot 3 inches tall, (taller than his father),shaving on occasion, his low-pitched voice asking me which store to go to, and know that I was one hell of a mom, and am now one hell of a grand-mom, and if I succeed in the hardest part of all-letting him grow up and be the man that I have worked so hard for him to be, that I will have done the hardest, most wonderful, rewarding, frustrating job in the world-be a parent, and one day walk with him as he skips through the park with his child.

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