Tag Archives: Memory

What I learned from a soldier

Dad

In Memory of my father, Don Everett  (9/1/1935 – 1/9/2008)

What I learned from a soldier…

About strength
It’s okay to cry…

About caring
Take your vitamins… Stay away from dark alleys… Watch your back… I love you…

About illness
I’m so sorry you’re sick… I’m very concerned… Have you been eating right? Taking your vitamins? 

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Tightrope Walkers

1895, “The Tightrope Walker” by Jean-Louis Forain (1852-1931)

1895, “The Tightrope Walker” by Jean-Louis Forain (1852-1931)

tight·rope (tītʹrōp´) noun
1. A tightly stretched rope, usually of wire, on which acrobats perform high above the ground.
2. An extremely precarious course or situation.


 “I am always at the beginning,” said The Buddha, on being asked what life was like.

Hello 2015.

Here we are: at the beginning again.
Accidental acrobats.
On this tightrope twined
with the messiness of living,
threads of grief,
and strands of memory.  Continue reading

Reggie, my heart therapy

Boys and dog

December, 2005, Sam, Joey & Reggie

He sees me

June 27, 2014. He loves a freshly cut lawn. He does a down-dog-stretch before squeezing through the rectangular flap of a door. Outside. Sniffing a path, he finds a patch of sun and flops onto his side. Lying still for a minute, he soaks up the warmth then rolls onto his stomach. Sphinx-like, his front legs out, chest high, ears alert, nose twitching, reading the air. He starts when a dragonfly skips by him, and I laugh. I’ve been watching him from the patio, learning from him how to be in the moment. He sees me and stands up, tail wagging. Making his way back through his magnetic door, he prances over to me and presents himself for a back rub.

I knead him from ear to tail. How’re you feeling today, Reggie? He is entranced. When I stop, he licks my hand. More, please. So I continue, and he seems to smile. I check beneath his fur. The infected lesions are healed, but the scabs can still be felt along the length of his spine.

I took him to the vet in May, a few weeks after I posted this:

I got my coffee and noticed then, that my dog was staring up at me with big apologetic eyes. Not for the death of my fridge, I’m pretty sure. Although he does sense when I’m sad or stressed. No, he was apologizing for the big, messy, grassy, puddle of puke on the carpet.

“Aww, Reggie. It’s okay,” I told him. How could I be angry at that face? Meditating and writing were moving to the bottom of my list. Deep breath.

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Deanna

April 29, 2014

Sam's poem: "Deaf"

Poem #29: “Deaf”

By Sam K. (age 9)

Some people say noise hurts their head
Some people say they wish they were dead
all because it’s oh so loud
but I am absolutely wowed
for I cannot hear a thing
not a single jingle or a ring
I cannot think of the
cause of it
maybe because I am
deaf

Deanna

April 20, 2014

Chameleon

Image Source: © 2013 TouTouke (Agnes Scholiers), http://www.rgbstock.com/user/TouTouke

Poem #20: “Zoo”

Zookeeper’s fingers, relaxed

Splayed

Leafy chameleon, sticky toes

Stayed

Don’t be loud, touch

Gently

Note his eyes, orbit

Independently

Scaly thing, never misses

A fly

Spellbound children, eyes

Up high

On the mini-dinosaur’s

Gripping tail

In and around knotty branches

Going pale

 

We touched a snake, a chinchilla

Even a skink

But not the wolf spider—No way!

What do you think?

 

We washed off our hands and waited

In line

Ate our brown bag lunch in a sea

Of pine

The big yellow birds were waiting

Nearby

Line up now children, let’s all say

Goodbye

The shadows beside me

 Boys at sunset, Naples '04

While we (bereaved parents) are readjusting to our perception of what grief is, and who we are as we grieve, and how our relationship with our deceased child will be, grief changes and evolves, subsides and resurfaces.  Continue reading