Thursday, August 30, 2012


What if for a moment,
We could imagine our lives as a painting?
The canvas beautifully designed by
The Master Artist.
Each moment crafted,
Especially for us.
But, the canvas our lives are-
Painted upon,
Is continually changing.
One layer upon the next.
And, maybe when we die,
At one miraculous moment-
The layers of the canvas, 
Of our lives-
Begin to peel away,
And we are awash-
With the beauty of God's handiwork.
The paint takes life-
It surrounds us,
And at once-
We are able to see,
The entire picture.
It is enveloping-
The whole canvas,
Just perfectly for us.
What a moment that will be.
When everything makes sense.
And our questions are answered,
And we can see-
The vision the Painter had in mind,
Our entire lives.
When every moment suddenly fits,
And a knowledge that surpasses-
All understanding
Is beautifully presented to us.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

They Say

They say, time will make this easier. 
They say, time will heal my wounds.
But, I'm not so sure I believe them.
For me, life has only become harder-
The farther away from my father's passing I go.
The longer I travel this lonesome highway,
Is one minute, one hour, one day, one week-
I stray away from him.
From the moments he was alive.
Every mile I trek down this road,
Is another on the map of being distanced from-
His smile.
His voice.
His laughter.
His embrace.
His being
What I wouldn't give for a release from this pain.
But, if it hurting less-
Means forgetting him more,
I will pack up this pain-
And store it someplace safe. 
I will gladly carry it with me,
For the rest of my years-
Because to forget is incomprehensible.
But, I feel it happening-
Now, even this soon. 
I struggle to remember every ounce,
Of who he was-
While, at the same time,
I grapple with the pain that led me here.

Friday, August 24, 2012

Silver Linings

I wonder where the term, "silver linings" originated.  Maybe from a seamstress searching for a piece of thread to make things look nice.  Nowadays, the term is commonplace, and it makes me think about where I can find silver linings. 

I have been forced to find silver linings in the patchwork of life.  Each part of me is continually being stitched together by the Great Weaver, and I have no control.  Just when I think the thread is pulled tight, out come the scissors, but it's without the satisfaction of a clean break. 

It is more like a tear.  Life has torn my heart to shreds.  It has broken me down, built me up, and broken me down again.  And, sadly, I understand this is not the end of the construction work.

Jesus was a master carpenter.  He took pieces of scrap and built them into something beautiful.  Maybe something wonderful will eventually be built from this ugliness.  I am willing to stick it out.  I am a loyal apprentice. 

I try not to question life.  I try to be happy with the joy that is given to me and I try to make peace with the sorrow.  But, I am only human, and sometimes, that's very hard.  I wonder, and I ponder, and I over think the simplest of things. 

But, in the meantime, I try to love more than hate, smile more than cry, rejoice more than grieve, and live more than die. 

All I can do is try. 


There are certain dates that define you; I have written about them before.  The date that you are born, becomes your birthday.  The date you are married becomes your wedding date.  There is also the date you were baptized, confirmed, met your soul mate, moved away from home, and if you're lucky, had your children.  There are also those dates that etch themselves into your heart; the date you find out, "the truth", and the day your parent passes away. 

This August 6th isn't the first one I have lived.  I've done it thirty-five times before.  But, this one is profound.  This date that's passed, and every week-long milestone I've had since then means something to me.  That date on my calendar will never be mistaken for just another day on the clock for me.  August 6th, is the day I lost my father. 

Never again will I see the passing of summer as just another season in my book of life.  Never again will I envision it as the starting of a school year, new beginnings, and pictures on the front steps.  I will never see August again without seeing my dad.

I was thinking recently about the hundreds of people who paid their respects to my father.  And I mean, hundreds.  When I thought about it, I was so proud.  Proud of the man he was and the legacy he built for us.  To think that that many people spent hours in line to hug us, see him, and be a part of his lasting love touches me deeply.  And, to fully understand how lucky I am to have had him as my father, makes me weep tears of pride and pain. 

No matter how hard we try, I don't think those of us here on earth ever find our last goodbyes.  We will always long for one more minute, one more hour, one more day, one more, "I love you", one more chance.  They are hidden and built deep within this lifetime and the next. 

When I think of my dad, my first reaction is to smile.  I truly believe that he is spending eternity in heaven.  But, when I think of me and those of us left here to grieve, my first reaction is to stifle the tears, the pain, the longing, the hurt, because this is the kind of hurt that drives people to their knees. 

And, then, on my knees, I find myself...praying.  Praying for God to help me be a better person, mother, teacher, friend, daughter, sister, wife, and all of the other titles I hold.  I just want to be the kind of person who lives her life in a lovely way. 

And, when my bell tolls, I hope it rings loud and clear upon heaven's gates.  For the place I want to go is the place my father saw when he passed.  A place that is awesome and miraculous and full of life.  One day, I hope to go home.

Friday, August 17, 2012

Heels Dug In

I envision those old-time movies, with the woman on the farmstead, dragging her heels in and refusing to leave, and I feel like her.  There have been many times this past year where I have planted my heels firmly in the ground and the world just drug me on with it; permission or not.

The first time I felt like this was after finding out about Trek.  Fragile X made me stick my cowgirl boots, spears and all, into that Arizona ground and not want to go on, but the funny thing about life is, you just have no choice, rocky desert, desolate ground, and all.  You just have to do it.  You have to live, "this life."

So, I did it.  I gave in.  I read.  I researched.  I learned all about genetics and how I "did this" to him.  I didn't want to, but I did.  And, somewhere along my path, I embraced it.  I embraced Fragile X and everything it had to offer; the love, the companionship, my husband, my sons, and all who were on this journey with me.  I did it reluctantly, but I am so happy I did, because they gave me hope. 

I feel the same way about cancer.  A friend of mine wrote recently that she wants to punch "cancer in the face."  Yep, me, too. But, then what?  Once I get my anger out, where can I possibly go from there?  Sink deeper into this hole, or find the tools to dig my way out?

 I choose digging.  I choose crawling.  I choose making a new road with tools I had no clue existed and ones I may need to invent along the way.  Because, the other option I have, is simply not an option. 

I could let the heaviness of my new heart weigh me down, but for how long?  A minute?  An hour?  Days?  Weeks? Years?  A lifetime?  Nope, not for me. Cancer had its time.  It had two years of my life and my family's life and my father's life.  I will NOT let it write our future. I will not let it taint my father's legacy.  Because, cancer wasn't all he was.  He was love.  He was laughter.  He was hope, and pride, and honesty, and fairness, and faith.  That was him. 

So, tomorrow I must go.  I must face this new world without the comfort of my mother, this farm, his clothes, and sleeping in his bed.  I must go.  I am scared as all-get-out to do this.  I don't know how that little plane can carry my grief, but I guess I must give it a try.  It's a big ol' bag to carry.  It's the weight of the world resting on my little shoulders.  And, it is too heavy. 

People say it gets easier.  I'd like to know when, because everyday to me is harder.  Harder to imagine.  Harder to smile.  Harder to laugh and do the mudane things of life.  Life is hard, I understand this; I just wish it would get a little bit easier.  In time, I'm sure it will. 

Maybe a new perspective is all I need.  One from above.  Close to him. And the next time I set my eyes upon this fertile land, it will be with a different point of view.  One that has time on its side and a little distance from the hurt.

And, So I Write

And, so I write.
I let the pen and the paper,
And the swift strokes of the keyboard
Take away some of the hurt.

That's why I write.
To let it go.
To free the anguish
From my soul.

And, so I write.
To ease what's been bottled up.
In places,
I don't care to go.

But, it's easier,
Than saying those words
Out loud.

I hurt.
We all do.
But, some hurts
Are forever.

And, to my
"Forever Hurts"
This is a place for you
To live.
Because I cannot keep you.
You'll crush me if I do.
But, live you must.
And, live with you
I have no choice.

So, here it is.
A window into my heart,
My hurt.
To peer into my new world.

Pen to paper.
Fingers to keys.
A sweet release,
To go help me go on.

And, so I write.


You were there.
Across miles.
Only a phone call away.

You were there.
In that emptiness of home.
I felt you.

You were there.
Your blood running
Thick with mine.

You were there.
Soaring in the heavens.
With me on my way home.

You were there.
Whispering in his ear.
Reminding him I was coming.

You were there.
When I couldn't be.
My beacon of hope.

You were there.
Welcoming me home.
I will never forget.

You were there.
I owe you my last goodbye.

I loved you before,
But that could never compare
To how I love you now.

You were there.
Thank you.

In Time

Another day rises,
And another sun sets.
Summer in the plains,
Tips her bonnet and bids

She takes with her,
The life and memories-
Of everything I knew.
And she leaves me with-
The death of fall.

From now,
And for always-
My life will not be measured
By seasons.

It will be measured-
In time.
The time before,
And the time after.

Time before holds everything
That was familiar.
Holidays, phone calls.
Just because.

Time after is just beginning.
Time after is something-
I cannot quite wrap my head around.
The ticking of my clock starts now.

At times she is slow.
And others she is swift.
But, she cannot do the one
Thing I wish she could.

She cannot rewind.
She cannot start over.
There's only now.
There's only tomorrow.

So, strap those boots on tight.
Double-knot them,
And get out into the murky water-
That is your now.

Trudge on.
Follow your heart,
You'll find your way.

Don your hat of fall,
Don't tuck it down so far,
That you cannot see the sun.
It's there.

Have the faith to feel him on your shoulder.
To warm your face.
Touch your heart.
Soothe your soul.

You'll get to where you're going.
In time.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

The Story of the Butterfly

My grandfather passed away in the fall of 2001, ten days before September 11th rocked our nation.  September in Iowa marks the birth of fall, of  harvest, and the end of summer days.  It is also the season of the Monarch butterfly. 

This particular fall my grandfather passed away was, I'm sure, like so many before; the only difference was this fall was tainted with sadness.  The night of my grandfather's visitation, our family decided to gather up Monarch butterflies to release at his funeral.  We were harvesters on a mission, and when all was said and done, we had two plastic bins full of those amazing creatures.

The next morning, we released them at the end of my grandfather's funeral.  It was nothing short of breathtaking.  To see them fly away, to whatever home they were going to, was very poignant for all of us. 

The Monarch butterfly has become a symbol of love in my family.  At my wedding, instead of throwing birdseed or blowing bubbles, we released Monarch butterflies and it was incredible.  My cousin recently did the same.  For the last eleven years every time we see a Monarch, we remember our papa, smile, and quip that he was coming for a visit. 

This particular summer, my family hasn't seen many Monarchs in Iowa, and living in Arizona, my sightings are even more rare.  But, in the hours leading up to the time my father's soul left this earth, there was a Monarch butterfly who would flutter outside of his window at the Hospice House.  Each time my family would see it, they would share with my dad that his father was checking on him to see how he was doing.

The last Monarch my family saw that morning flew away just as I was arriving to be at my father's side.  It was almost as if it was waiting for the last piece of our family puzzle to be put in place. 

After my dad passed away, I was trying to explain to my niece, Reese, the significance of the Monarch to us.  For the rest of her life, I will remind her to keep looking for the butterflies, they will find her when she least expects it.  They will find all of us, just when we need it most.

Lessons Learned

I never realized before enduring my father's death, that it's okay to laugh, it's okay to smile, and it's okay to crack a joke, even as you are embracing a heartache.  Before the unspeakable happened to my family, I imagined those who walked in my shoes before me as being sullen and sad every single second of their lives-until they reached that point where they could learn to live again. 

Not every moment since my dad's passing has been full of sorrow, but when those moments hit, they are like a series of mini-earthquakes in the core of my being.  They rock what is already soggy ground and cause me to rebuild again, from the ground up.  Sometimes this happens innumerable times a day.

And how do I rebuild?  I remind myself of how much I am loved and how many I have to love.  And I smile.  And I laugh.  And I make corny, semi-witty jokes.  Because that is what my father would have wanted us to do; keep our noses to the ground, push on, and live our lives in such a way that one day we will meet again; with the assurance and knowledge that those hands we loved so much will welcome us into heaven.  When I imagine that moment, it makes me so happy. 

Monday, August 13, 2012


I am wrapped in a blanket of grief.
It is suffocating me,
And dragging me down-
With its intensity.

This is what I was afraid of.
And, my instincts were right-
I had a reason to be terrified,
Being swaddled in this grief is horrible.

My soul feels haunted,
To cry out in anguish is just not good enough-
To chase this beast away.

I run from my invisible demons,
But, eventually they catch me-
And sweep my feet out from under me,
Causing me to crash to the ground-
While they pour salt in my wounds. 

Little by little I am sure I am-
Unraveling pieces of this blanket of grief.
But, it will never be soon enough-
I want this blanket to be threadbare.
And, even then, it will not be enough to satisfy me.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

When Thank You Isn't Enough

When thank you isn't enough,
What do you give?
You try to say with words,
Just what your heart feels,
But, it isn't the same.

When thank you isn't enough,
Where do you search-
For the love that you are feeling,
There are no words.

When thank you isn't enough,
You try to show-
Just how much they mean to you,
When there is no where else to go.

When thank you isn't enough,
You depend on God to find-
Just the right path for you,
To show them they are the
Ties that bind.

When thank you isn't enough,
You pray that they will know-
Just how much they mean to you,
They are the place that you must go.


Friendhips are not built in a day.
They are watered, tended to, and cultivated-
Over years.
True friendships,
Span miles,
And phone calls-
And recognition,
With a simple touch of the heart-
Or a song in their voice.
Friendships make you who you are,
And carry you when the going gets tough.
True friendships,
Hold strong.
They urge you to believe,
Just how loved you are.
When you cannot see it with-
Your own eyes. 
They will never let you forget-
True friendships,
Will love you through-
The thick and the thin,
Laughter and tears.
Hope and heartache.
They will love you today,
They loved you yesterday,
And they will love you tomorrow.
They will love you,

Friday, August 10, 2012

I Hurt

I hurt.
I am sad.
Will this pain ever
Go away?

I sleep in his bed,
I wear his clothes-
Just to smell him.

I ask if it's okay,
To remember him.
And, it is-
With time.

I wear his watch,
Batteries gone-
Time does not matter to me,
It's only him I want.

I miss him,
I miss our life.
How will this emptiness
Ever be replaced?

It does not seem fair,
Cancer tagged out the fighter
But he didn't see it coming. 

The tears I shed,
Just will never be enough-
To fill an empty well.

I prayed for minutes,
And hours I was given,

But time is still all I want.


Dana, how could I ever express what you mean to us?  For this love, there are no words.  You are my brother's wife, my parents' daughter, my sister. 

Because Josh loved you, we were enamored with you; before you set foot inside of our home-you had a place there, etched out by someone up above.  I love to think God had a home for you, and we welcomed you with wide-open arms.

I love you.  I hope I have told you a million times how wonderful you are.  And, if I forget one time, I hope it's the last. 

Take care of his heart, as you have done mine.  I have no doubt you will.  You held my hand and my heart in one fell-swoop. I am so sorry it had to be this way, but at the same time, I couldn't imagine you not being there. 

We will love you forever.  My sweet sister by choice.  I adore you.



Sisters By Choice

I always prayed for a sister.  I remember being a child and longing for someone to have the same genetic make-up as me.  I was missing that huge X chromosome from my life.  I begged my parents to adopt a girl so I wasn't alone.  That plea fell on deaf ears; for a reason. 

The day Kati came into my life, I rejoiced.  I loved her from the get-go.  Fast car driving, hell-on-wheels, and all.  We all did.  She was such a spark in our life, she was what we were missing.  My mother embraced her, my father said, "Hello, Kati."  And that, was that.  She did not need our approval, but she had it.

She has been with us through hurt and healing.  Smiles and pain.  She's been there through all of that.  The days leading up to the point when I lost my dad, Kati was a light.  She comforted me across miles and then again across a simple touch of the hand.  Kati was there and I would not want it any other way. 

She was one of the ones I seeked out during my father's last days, and if I'm honest, his last breaths.  She never forsake me. She was always there. 

And, now, more than ever, I leave her in the care of my brother's heart.   She's the one who will comfort him, hold him, love him, and carry him on-when miles separate us from each other.

God sent us her.  My sweet, Kati-Mae...He knew what he was doing when he forgot to bless me with a sister by blood.  He gave me a sister that is so much deeper than that, my sister by choice, my sister forever, my sister whom I love-I couldn't imagine it any other way. 

I love you, Kate. 




Until we meet again.

See you later.

So long,
After a while-
Go in peace.

Ten-Four, Good Buddy-
Over and out.

We're gone.


Thursday, August 9, 2012

I Fell In Love

I fell in love tonight,
A hundred times-
Plus one.

I fell in love with my father,
My mother,
And their sons.

I fell in love with strangers,
Each one of them became-
Those I have a kindredship with,
My father still remains.

I fell in love tonight,
Hugs, tears, and kisses, too.
I carry the sweet perfume of those,
Who bid farewell to you.

I fell in love tonight,
In the darkest of my days.
They will help me through,
My forever hurt-
You wouldn't want it any other way.

I fell in love tonight,
You paved this path with care.
Your legacy lives on with us-
You will forever be there.

The Gift

Cancer is a fickle gift.  It is an invisible monster that lurks in places you cannot see; its tentacles are far reaching, and once they take hold it is nearly impossible to stop.

Cancer will rip your heart out and leave you dropped on your knees begging for mercy.  And, this is coming from someone who loved the fighter in the battle, not the warrior himself.  But, cancer does not always have to win; even in death we can beat it.

When I have the courage, I can see cancer as a gift.  It allowed me to say goodbye to my dad for two years.  In those two years, I grew more in love with my father.  I saw how strong he really was, from the inside out.  He may have not always been strong physically, but he was immensely strong in spirit, in soul, in character, in love and in life. 

Cancer gave him permission to express how much he loved us, and us the gift of showing him exactly how much we loved him.  It became okay to hug more, linger longer, hold hands, and kiss on foreheads...cancer gave that to us. 

Cancer will humble you.  It will force you to look beyond what you see with your eyes.  It forces you to seek what's in your heart and to say those words that sometimes get stuck on the tip of your tongue.

What I witnessed tonight at my father's visitation was nothing less than the purest form of love.  Those who loved him, my mother, my brothers, my family, and I, waited for hours just to help bid him farewell.  He deserved nothing less than that, but he also earned that love; without even trying to. 

So, goodbye, Dad...I hope that you are dancing in the heavens and looking down on what transpired tonight.  You are so loved by so many. 

Until we meet again...thank you for the memories and thank you for the gift of having the honor to love you. 

Are You Angry?

When my father's cancer became serious, people asked him, "Are you angry?"  "Angry about what," my father asked.  "Angry that this has happened to you!  How could such a bad thing happen to such a good person?" they implored.  The answer my father gave them has stuck with me since I heard he'd uttered these words, "Why?  Why would I be angry? (He was so confused) God has given me a good life.  I have a wonderful wife and three beautiful children.  He has blessed me with grandchildren I adore. I have had good parents, a brother and sister, nieces and nephews.  What more could I want?"  Even though he died too young, he lived every day to the fullest.  Only in death could my father comfort those of us who remain.  I admire him.  I adore him.  I love him so much.  Some of his last words speak volumes.  Those of us who are left, would be blessed to listen to that sweet, sweet man.  God broke the mold when he made my father.  I miss him already and this is only the beginning of my journey.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

In The Quiet Moments

In the quiet moments,
I remember you.
I glance over my shoulder,
Expecting to see you.

In the quiet moments,
I imagine you here.
Laughing, loving...
I search for you-
In the quiet moments.

In the quiet moments,
I hurt and wonder how I will go on.
I long for you,
In the quiet moments.

In the quiet moments,
You are the loudest.
When darkness blankets this prairie,
I feel alone,
Waiting for the sun to rise again,
For loudness to wake me from my reprieve.
In the quiet moments.

One day, I will wish for the quiet moments,
When the noise of you being gone is just too much.
Because being with you was never quiet,
It was filled with so much life.

From now until forever,
My life will be too quiet.
I will miss you,
In every moment.
Especially the quiet ones.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

I Hear Him

I hear him.

I hear his laughter,
I hear his song.
I hear his, "I love you,"
Even though he's gone.

I hear him.

I hear his footsteps,
I hear his voice.
I hear his teachings,
I have no choice.

I hear him.

I hear him in the creek,
Across the floor.
Even as,
He will not walk those steps-
Like before.

I hear him.

I hear him in an opening
Of the kitchen door.
I hear him as a tractor
In the distance,
Reaches out for more.

I hear him.

I hear him in the stream,
That runs outside our home.
I hear him in the pasture,
Where his cattle used to roam.

I hear him.

I hear him-
As he so patiently waits,
To greet us at
Heaven's Pearly Gates.

I hear him.

I See Him

I see him everywhere,
Even though he's gone.
Eyes wide open,
And eyes closed shut-
I see him.
In this haze of grief,
I see him-
He lives.
I see him at every turn I make.
I see him in the
Knickknacks that surrounded him,
The "things" he loved.
I see him in his shoes,
Waiting to be worn-
Missing him and the work,
That they required.
They long to feel the dirt beneath,
Their soles.
I see him in a signature,
The ink barely dry.
I see him.
On this land-
The land he lived with,
Lived for.
Raised his family,
And himself upon.
I see him in stories shared.
I see him in his friends.
I see him in my mother's gestures.
I see him in the faces of my brothers,
His grandchildren,
And me.
I see him.
Not with my eyes,
But with my heart, my soul, my memories-
In every step of my life,
I see him.
And, that is what matters.
He taught me that you cannot always envision,
What is truly there.
Sometimes you have to have faith.
And understand that,
You cannot fathom what riches-
There are to be behold,
If only you can believe.
Because of that,
And because of him-
I know that one day,
I will see him again.
I have no doubt.
With eyes that can actually witness,
What God has intended all along.
The first time I will see Him.

Saturday, August 4, 2012

Our Walk to Remember

We went for a stroll one morning,
Just my father and I.
As the sun awakened and rose in the east,
I took my father's hand-
And we walked along the country road that was our home.
As we walked, we reminisced-
We remembered.
We laughed.
We cried.
Days passed, years even-
Seasons changed as we walked,
My father and I.
We shared memories of our life spent together-
Memories that healed and memories that hurt.
We walked past green pastures,
And I saw through his eyes-
All of the moments,
That had sculpted his life.
I saw his love and dedication to my mother.
I saw the awe in his heart-
The day his children were born.
I saw his grandchildren,
Sons, daughters, family, and friends-
He had gathered along the way.
On our journey down our country road,
We rarely spoke aloud.
The conversations we had existed,
Between his heart and mine.
As the dusk began to fall,
And the sun was put to sleep-
My father gently squeezed my hand,
And I knew our time together was drawing to a close.
As I gazed out beyond our path,
I noticed that my road was coming to an ending-
While his was just beginning.
And even through my heartache,
I was happy for him.
This was the road that would lead him home-
Others waiting to guide him on his way.
To grasp his hand-
As mine slipped free.
Even through my anguish,
I understood-
He had been preparing me my entire life for this moment-
The time I would need to walk,
Without his hand to hold.

The Last Season of a Farmer

The last season of a farmer,
It doesn't quite seem fair.
He'll never see the progress,
Of what he planted there.

The last season of a farmer,
He's toiled this earth with love.
The next harvest he will see,
Will be witnessed from up above.

The last season of a farmer,
The legacy he leaves behind.
Is one of riches far more great,
Than many ever hope to find. 

The last season of a farmer,
Was spent watching his family thrive.
Because no other crop ever measured up,
We are the memories that keep him alive.

Friday, August 3, 2012

The Heart of a Warrior

I come from Viking stock.  Thick warrior blood courses through my body.  My ancestors faced unknown challenges in that icy tundra with perseverance and determination. 

My warrior blood comes from my father.  For centuries the fighter spirit of our kin has been passed down through generations, and now, finds life within father, my father's children, and my father's grandchildren.  It is a gift that's been honed for years.  Thank God for that, because now we're cashing in.

My father has a heart of a warrior.  He is quite simply, the strongest man I've ever met; even if you cannot see it from the outside.  He is facing his own icy tundra, but those of us who love him, would never know the pain he must feel. 

Even in his own hour of need, he is not thinking of himself.  Rather, the depths of his love for us shines on us and warms us.  He is wrapping us in a blanket of comfort, love, courage, faith, and family.  To understand how loved we are is enough to cause me to fall apart.  There are no words to describe what it feels like to know he is head-over-heels in love with everyone of us.  He will always protect us. 

My father carries on the tradition of those who have come and left before him.  Their spirit is very much alive in this modern day Viking.  But, unlike his forefathers, he comes in peace; he always has.  This Viking I know has the most gentle spirit.  He is honest.  He is fair.  He is loyal.  He is extremely witty and wildly funny.  He has never met a stranger. 

I hope when his warrior ship reaches its final destination, it is met with a quiet breeze, that will usher in all of those who have helped to make the Viking-who is giving us the warrior strength we will need to go on.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Suitcase For Heaven

If I could pack you a suitcase for heaven,
What would I include?
I would fold you up a summer day,
With the flowers in full bloom.

I would fill your pockets with
Love letters,
Written from me to you.
One for each day
I will live my life without you.

I would bid you safe travels,
With the rich soil from your home.
I would tie it in a knapsack,
For with you it must go.

And just for you,
I would tuck away-
Little pieces of my heart.
Because home is where the heart is,
And my heart will go with you.

I would decorate your suitcase,
With pictures from your past.
In hopes that when you see them,
You know your memory will forever last.

I would blow in a thousand kisses,
With a wish that you would plant-
One upon your face,
If you happen to feel sad.

If I could pack you a suitcase for heaven,
The one thing I would like to send-
Is all the love I have for you,
Until we meet again. 

Please Don't Judge My Child

Please don't judge my child,
I can see it in your eyes. 
If you only knew his story,
You just might sympathize.

Please don't judge my child,
He hasn't yet found his voice.
When you hear those screams,
Sometimes they are his only choice.

Please don't judge my child,
He's as sweet as sweet can be.
He is my gift from God,
I urge you to try and see.

Please don't judge my child,
If you only knew-
How hard he had to work,
For what came naturally to you.

Please don't judge my child,
Because if you take the chance-
You just might gain a friend.
If you take a second glance.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

The Ending of a Story

The ending of a story,
The last turning of a page.
The author's quill falls silent,
No more memories to be made.

The ending of a story,
An epic one at best.
Full of love and pride and laughter,
Of gentle smiles that never rest.

The ending of a story,
A life lived with strength and grace-
With faith that never wavered,
And understanding that rarely swayed.

The ending of a story,
I was blessed to have the chance-
To be a character in the making,
Of a life that too soon passed.


How will I manage to face the tomorrows that are about to come?  At what point will I be able to handle nothing more and collapse into myself?  Where will I go then?  What well of strength am I supposed to draw from?  I feel like I have been drained.  Empty.  There's nothing tangible for me to hold on to anymore.  A mirage is all that's there.  I am tired and thirsty.  Thirsty for a reprieve from the hurt.  Thirsty for a break from the pain.  Thirsty for a remembrance of what life was like before this drought.  I wonder if I would even recognize myself?  I pray for the day the rains will come.  But, I am terrified that when those torrential showers of emotions are finally set free, and my thirst is eventually quenched, it will be the day the last little piece of my heart breaks.  The day the dam of my soul succumbs to the grief.