My Tree of Life

In memory of Sam, March 2, 1998 - April 30, 2007.

It was a ten-inch tall mini-tree in a small plastic pot that sat on the coffee table in the living room. Sprinkled with silver glitter and embellished with tiny silver ornaments. An impulse purchase at Target one December years ago. An attempt at decorating for the holidays, at living.

Reggie, my heart therapy

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.… Continue reading Reggie, my heart therapy

Image Source: © 2013 TouTouke (Agnes Scholiers),

Poem #20: “Zoo”

Zookeeper’s fingers, relaxed


Leafy chameleon, sticky toes


Don’t be loud, touch


Note his eyes, orbit


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


Line up now children, let’s all say


Phrases #19: “Powerful”

By Sam K. (age 8)

Sam's "Powerful Phrases"

  • Warm spring rain
  • Cool blast of air
  • I’d give up anything for you.
  • Hot summer sand
  • Warm, green ocean water
  • Let the force be with you
  • I love you deeper than the ocean
  • With great power, comes great responsibility

Day 15, “Fly”

Poem #15: “Fly” There was a total lunar eclipse today (Tuesday, April 15th) that turned the moon a coppery red. A blood-moon. And it was one of four total eclipses that will take place in North America within the next year and a half, NASA says. Only wish I could have stayed awake to see it!

Poem #6: “Nature”

By Joey K. (6th grade)

I am a rock
Lifeless and quiet
I wear no shoes nor socks
And can’t go on a diet

I am a tree
Standing tall and thick
I give birds and squirrels glee
My shape is much like a toothpick

I am a mushroom
Just one part of my family
All funguses take over the dead, I assume
And grow around merrily

I am an eagle
Watching everything with my keen eye
Sitting atop a tree, acting regal
Like an MIG spy

I am nature
Where anything can live or die
And when you decide to look around make sure
To keep an open eye

And now, grief is a gorilla. Massive, strong, solid, sometimes silent—it lies still and rests—and sometimes loud—it howls and beats its chest. It can be sluggish and clumsy or nimble and sharp. And, as if I am the dead one, grief holds me and shakes my lifelessness with puzzled eyes, and pokes at me and nudges me and reminds me that yes, Living without my child is incomprehensible—impossible, but that I still have to breathe.

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