Tag Archives: Thoughts

To dance with my father again

Dance w my father again

If I could get another chance

Another walk

Another dance with him

I’d play a song that would never ever end

How I’d love love love

To dance with my father again

~ Written by Luther Vandross with Richard Marx

Another chance…

To celebrate a birthday with you.

“Happy Birthday, Dad. I miss you.”

To sit by the ocean with our cooler and sandwiches, and talk. 

To walk, holding hands.

“Are you ready? I’m right here. Here we go…” 

To hug you, and be hugged back by you.

To be led by you.

“Dad, I don’t know how to dance like this.”

“I’ll lead. Just follow me.”

How I’d love love love

To dance with my father again.

(Photo: 1993) My dad, 9/1/1935 – 1/9/2008

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Words of Hope

Photo by Deanna Kassenoff: Cardinal and Chickadee

“Hope” is the thing with feathers

BY EMILY DICKINSON

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
 
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
 
I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

As long as we are here

After the death of a child, grief extinguishes our hope–our hopes, our dreams, our future. With nothing to hold on to, hopelessness becomes seemingly tangible. Life becomes unreal and unsteady. But as long as we are here, hope still flutters deep inside us. Though it’s an impossible thing to see. It’s there. Perched in our souls, our sons and daughters, though gone, still live within us. And they never stop singing; so don’t ever stop listening. Even though the songs or sounds may be fleeting and without words, hope is the thing with feathers that never stops – at all.

Photo by Deanna Kassenoff: Cardinal and Chickadee

Poem source: Poetry Foundation

The Missing Letter

I have no more words.
Let the soul speak
With the silent articulation
of a face.

– Rumi

 

Sam, Nov 2006

Sam (3/2/98 – 4/30/07) 

He is the missing letter from every one of my words.
And, he is the lost words that I seek.

Though words never can truly describe his essence, the sound of his voice, his wit, his loves, his promise, his unrealized potential…

He is my possible, my dream.
My alternate reality, my quiet.
My left side, my tolerant heart.
My hope for peace, a better ending.

He’s my awareness, my stay in the moment.
My patience—in this space where I wait.
My mystery, my future.
My sight beyond this lifetime.
My unknown, my tears, my smile.
My “What would life be like if…”

He is my humor, my ability to laugh.
At my cluelessness.
And the absurdity of it all.

Unfriended

“In prosperity our friends know us; in adversity we know our friends.”

~ John Churton Collins

If you are an underclassman (in your first few years) majoring, involuntarily, in Life after the Death of your Child, you may find yourself bewildered at the flight of your friends, at the loss of your former support system, and at the dead air you’ve heard crackling since the death of your child. The phone has stopped ringing. The emails have ended. The holiday cards are conspicuously absent. The voice messages you left (“Hey, friend’s name here, just checkin in. Hope all’s well. Talk to ya soon. Love ya.”) have yet to be returned. The summer visits are no longer anticipated. The secrets you’ve shared have gone underground. And, at this point you’ve run out of excuses for their absence. You’re angry. Hurt, abandoned—left for dead. And, if it’s even possible, you’re sadness has deepened.

Okay, so this was my experience.

If you have not experienced the disappearing act of friends since your child’s death, then you’re very lucky. For now. And you don’t have to read any further. Unless, you just want to see how this ends.  Continue reading

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? 

Continue reading

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