I can hold
The weight
Of worries
Right alongside
The deepest
Of joys
I’ve had lots
Of experience
Held them for
Many others
Over the years
Moms and dads
Grandmas
Grandpas
As their arms
Held the tiniest
Of beings
Overcome
With love
Responsibility
And exhaustion-
One gentle push
Of their feet
Against the floor
And fears fade
With my back
And forth rhythm
That lends itself
To lullabies-
It’s okay
Sit down
Take a breath
You can trust me
Initially, the word
Brings a shade
Of sadness
Nameless
Something
Unimportant
Even ignored
But if I pause
And consider
Each bright star
I saw shining
In yesterday’s
Night sky
My sentiments shift-
Yes, each star
Almost certainly
Has a name
But I could
Not possibly
Know them all-
My eyes see you
My mind knows you
My heart loves you
Each part of me
Holds its own name
And yet, deep down
Where the strongest
Emotions reside
Namelessness
Gives comfort
In the thought
Of experiencing
Something
So powerful
No name is needed
Once again, this poem was written during a poetry circle. Thank you, Ali Grimshaw https://flashlightbatteries.blog/, for creating such a beautiful space. ❤️
I’m okay
Pretty
Convincing
As long as
I’m the one
Asking the question
Moving along
Thru each day
And then
Another
Heart
Inquires
Are you doing okay?
I have asked
It of others
Sincerely
Seeking
The truth
So, even if
The response
Brings tears
As it currently
Does with me
Keep asking
Because it’s okay
To not be okay
And some days
The tears just
Need to fall
My mom and I were recently talking about the sadness and missing my dad. But also that we still have hope for tomorrow. She wisely said tears need to come out. ❤
Where do I start?
Is start the right word?
Perhaps, a better choice
Would be continuing…
The next step
The next word
May come
A bit easier
Not that easier
Is the goal
No, my goal
Should be
Living, loving
Remembering
All of which
Miraculously
Occur in one
Solitary second
A single step
Where the body
Carries the soul
As the heart
Continues to drum
I started the day with a two-minute word list writing exercise. Set the timer, start writing, and see where it goes. My list, not surprisingly, began with sadness and tears. But it ended with hope and future.
I haven’t used this exercise in a while. I’m glad I chose it today. Grateful for where it led.
My dad was proud of his grandkids and loved them very much. You can see it in the pictures. And they know it in their hearts.
He was so excited about becoming a great-grandpa. Even though he had not met this sweet new baby, he already loved her.
I know her mom and dad will tell her stories about all her great-grandparents someday. All the while, writing new stories to be shared in the future.
I can’t wait to meet our granddaughter…💗
Joy filling
The vastness
Of desert skies
Sadness
Sinking
To the depths
Of ocean floors
Strength
Standing
Gracefully
On the horizon
As the sun
Continues
To rise and set
This Sunday, I am thinking about my sweet mom. She is strong and determined to keep going. And I am so very proud of her. ❤
When talking
To my mom
On the phone-
To hear my dad
In the background
How’s my little girl?
When visiting
The house
Where I grew up-
To see him walking
Down the hall or
Standing in the kitchen
When far away
In my own home
Living my daily life-
To picture them
In my mind’s eye
By each other’s side
Each represents a truth
I have witnessed
Year after year
But sometimes
Life requires a change
Of expectations
Death is no exception.
Tho its shifts remain
Partially hidden
Until their time
Otherwise, we
Might not love
Quite so fiercely
Holding Hope
Waiting for
Buds to appear
And begin
Repainting
The landscape
With the newness
Felt in all
Shades of green
Taking care not
To overlook
Today's grays
Or forget
The once bright
Colors
Now faded
Their purpose
Fulfilled in
The graceful
Holding of hope
For tomorrow’s
Blooming
Skillfully painted
Across the sky
Filling time
And space
One after another
Some clearly
Defined
Like the bright
Blue of a happy
Childhood day
Others, fuzzy
Around the edges
Like the moody purple
Of teenage angst
With every color
And shade
In between
Defined or blurred
Each opens a door
To recollections
Of the past
Or dreams
For the future
Joy and sorrow
Love and loss
Life and death
Each painting
Their own part
In the big picture
I’ve never given deep thought to the life cycle of a butterfly. Besides children’s books and craft projects, that is. A tiny egg, a growing caterpillar, and a beautiful butterfly. It sounds simple, especially when mapped out with cotton balls, popsicle sticks, and coffee filters.
But none of those descriptions mention the chrysalis or what happens inside. The transformation is anything but simple. It is hard and sometimes painful. Near-perfect conditions are required for the butterfly to be released.
This week, saying goodbye to my dad, I was reminded of the shell left behind. It held so much life. Protected the spirit and soul of its occupant. And when the time came, allowed its release.
Death is part of life. I know that. And my dad lived his to the fullest, good times and bad. Health conditions over the past few years caused him to slow down. Challenging for someone who spent their life building things.
Instead of swinging a hammer, he would cook dinner for kids at church. Instead of traveling on mission trips, he would encourage friends thru phone calls. He did not complain. And most of all, he enjoyed his life with my mom. Picnics by the lake, coffee, cookies in the evenings, doctor appointments…life.
His sweet soul is no longer with us. It has been released. My faith tells me he is with God. And though that brings comfort, I selfishly wish he was still with us. The missing is hard. I suppose it is a part of my transformation…
Piano Girl 