Ridges and swirls

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Angels leave their fingerprints,

on morning skies while I snooze.

Reminders that, though bodies have gone,

connections to souls we never lose.

And while I sit and ponder those,

who were taken in their prime,

my heart is filled with silent sadness

and a yearning to turn back time.

But their hands gently hold my heart

mending the chronic ache,

and they leave their fingerprints upon the sky

for me to gaze upon when I wake.

I should have saved at least one

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My mother and I never had a traditional greeting when we called each other.  Instead of the banal “Hi Mom”, I could not help but deviate to the voice and the very unusual way Steve Martin used the word in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.  If you’ve seen the movie, you’ll know what I mean.  For those of you who have not had the pleasure of viewing this 1980’s masterpiece, allow me to introduce you.

When she was still with us, I would dial my mom’s number and when I heard her voice say hello, the first words out of my mouth were “Muther, muther”, doing my best to imitate Steve Martin as the classic character of Ruprecht.  She would always respond with an elongated “yeeeessss”.  It was our thing.  It was something only the two of us shared and it made me want to call her all the time just to hear that extended response because it made my heart smile every time I heard it.

It’s been just over a year and a half since she left and I still find myself nonsensically picking up the phone to call her.  There are still things in my life that I only want to share with her and, although I know she has all of the details of my life, I just want to hear her voice one more time.

I think back to all of the voice mails she left for me and I berate myself for not saving any of them.  Even if it was the most trivial narration of what had happened in the dining hall, that simple communication contained the timber and gentleness of the voice I have known for longer than I have physically been on this Earth.

Sometimes I think I have been able to pull that sound from the vault of my memory but it will always be missing that special element.  It will always be missing her, just as much as I am.

A place on my shelf but a much bigger place in my heart

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Perhaps it had been sitting on his shelf, collecting dust, for a few years.   He probably looked at it frequently, knowing that I would be in possession of it some day in the future and I’m sure, deep down, he knew he would not be the one to present it to me.

It arrived on my doorstep a few days after learning of his passing the week prior.  I was crushed to hear that he had left us.  But the sentiment in the gift is just as heart-felt now as it would have been had he been able to give me the gift himself because that gift meant that he valued the relationship we had developed.

It began 20 years ago.  I was working a summer job in the pro shop at a resort and he was a man hosting a charity golf tournament to raise money to find a cure for the illness that took the life of one of his children.  As a family, they hosted that tournament every year and I was happy and honored to become a part of it every spring.

As our relationship developed, so too did the amount of time we spent outside of the tournament hours.  Our Friday afternoon “meeting” before the Saturday tournament consisted of a “two-finger” pour of rye and coke.  I made my way back to my office in a bit of a haze since his two-finger measure was his index finger and pinky finger with a good inch and a half in between.  Had I been a smoker, I would have been extremely concerned about having an open flame so close to the fumes I was exhaling!

He was charming and he was a dedicated family man.  He always had a kind word, a comforting hug and a heart of gold.  The family tournament came to an end when his health was a bigger concern.  I eventually changed jobs and we lost touch, apart from the odd phone call, but I always have and always will carry him close to my heart.

God speed, Tom.  You were a special part of my life on this Earth and you will be a very special part of my memories.

 

Sailing into a storm

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I felt it.

Like the prickling of goosebumps,

I sensed the energy was different yesterday.

There were no warnings,

there was no black cloud in the sky,

but the winds of my day shifted

and my boat pitched on the stormy sea of Sunday.

Waves threatened to pull me into the angry water

but I held fast to my rudder

trying to steer myself to the calmness in the distance.

 Energy that surrounded me

knocked the hull of my sanctity

sending me further off my course.

When I finally reached the safe shore of my home,

the voyage of my day settled.

The wind no longer pushed me away from myself

and my calm found me again,

settled in for the night

and lulled me back into happiness.

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Keeping a piece of you with me

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butterfly

This pendant hangs around my neck,

a talisman of angelic proportion,

to be a gentle reminder of a life that once was.

This simple butterfly

holds the key to my beginning

and serves as a great source of comfort

when I feel like I am falling

into the abysmal chasm of grief.

For this charm holds a piece of you,

of each of you,

and I draw strength knowing that a part of you

will always be with me,

there to give me that sense of your presence

whenever I need it most.

Ashes to ashes

as yours are forever bound to the other.

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Suffering the side-effects of the human condition

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For those unfamiliar with the latest news in aviation, an Air Canada flight came down at Halifax International Airport on Sunday in what I personally refer to as a “successful crash”.  Airline media relations like to call it a “hard landing”.   I’m sure the passengers aboard would agree with my description since the pilot attempted to navigate the runway with no landing gear, no nose on the plane and short one engine.  The plane slid along the runway to a stop and passengers were able to exit the plane to safety.  There were more than two dozen sent to hospital with minor injuries but the end result was no casualties.   In lieu of what we have been watching recently about the German Airlines tragic ending, this story has a relatively positive outcome.

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The crash is under investigation and veteran pilots are already pointing the finger to pilot error unless the engines were not receiving full power.  It is too early to tell anything beyond the fact that the captain and his co-pilot are currently the only people who are responsible for bringing the troubled plane to the ground and sparing the lives of their passengers and crew.

I read a disturbing story today that some passengers are already threatening to sue Air Canada.  Just days after the tragedy of the German flight being piloted straight into the side of the Alps, these passengers’ perspective seems to have crashed and burned as well.   Their plane,  although potentially mishandled, was brought down safely in high wind gusts and snow after the landing gear was sheared off because the plane hit some antennas.  The one hundred and forty-nine passengers and crew of Germanwings were not so lucky.

Yes…your flight crash landed, but you survived.  Yes……you unfortunately had to stand on the runway for an hour before being shuttled into the airport.  No, I don’t think that is acceptable and no, I wasn’t on the plane and don’t know the terror you certainly experienced.  But nobody has to make a call to your family to say you didn’t make it.  Nobody has to guide your loved ones through the pain of knowing they will never have a body, or even fragments of a body, to bury to give them a sense of peace and closure.  You are alive to tell the tale and you, unlike so many others, will live to see another day.  Your family does not have to spend countless hours wondering what happened to your flight because you did not disappear without a trace, never to be seen again.

Perhaps the thing that irritated me the most and began this tyrannical rant is that one of the passengers made a flip comment about taking “plane crash” off their bucket list. I had to close the page of the interview.  Who, in their right mind, has plane crash on their bucket list and who can be so flippant with such a crass statement shortly after 149 people tragically lost their lives only days earlier and many other missing flights loaded with passengers and crew will never be found?  The light bulb that was my hope for humanity has been alarmingly dimmed today.

Perhaps those passengers threatening to sue were still in shock and merely making a rash judgement.  I can only hope that if the lawsuits go ahead and money is awarded to the victims of the unfortunate landing in Halifax that they will look back on the events of devastation that have happened within air travel over the past few years and use that money to set up a fund to aid families who have lost loved ones.  Winning a cash reward for surviving would be such a monumental slap in the face of the families who are still grieving and to those who will never get the answer to the question of what really happened to their loved ones.

 

Giving myself permission to feel joy

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“Find the place inside where there is joy, and the joy will burn out the pain.” ~ Joseph Campbell

inner joy

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This past weekend was more painful than I anticipated it would be.  Saturday was the one year anniversary of my mom’s passing and the anguish of losing her took me by surprise all over again.  I awoke at the exact time I received the dreaded phone call last year and spent the remainder of the day secluding myself from society, friends and family.

It was a much-needed hibernation from reality and time that allowed me to reflect on all of the happy memories and not just dwell in the sadness.  I was able to observe many moments of silence and stillness.  Those quiet moments gave me permission to initially grieve but then to take that grief and smother it with thoughts of a happy life spent with my mom and my dad.

After recognizing my mom’s passing, the ninth anniversary of my dad’s passing occurred two days later on Monday.  As it happened on Saturday, I awoke at 2:15 am on Monday, roughly the time my dad passed, and spent many peaceful moments remembering the good times with him.

Grief can be consuming but joy has a way of quelling the overwhelming emotion and allowing happiness to rise to the surface.  It is difficult in times of sorrow, especially when remembering a loved one who has passed, to be able to bring joy to the moment.  But those who have left us would want us to feel nothing but joy.  My parents would be sad to know that I am still grieving and not embracing the spirit they had when they lived.

It is that force that drives me to find joy in my sadness.  It is their energy that wills me to move beyond the grief and remember their lives in a happy way and not cling to the heartache I feel in their absence.  I will always grieve the loss of my parents but I will also begin to give myself permission to bask in the joy I feel having been a part of their lives.  Hopefully, in time, I will be able to carry that joy into my future and the joy will burn out the pain.

The year that went by in what feels like a month

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A year ago today, my brother and I lost the most important woman in our lives.  We released butterflies at her celebration of life and we see her wings in so many places.  I wrote this poem for her.  We miss you mom.  xo

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You left us in the early hours,

so peacefully your spirit would roam.

Through a gentle wind and the rising sun,

He called to take you home.

A ladder was built for your journey to light,

each rung meant to make you content.

While bathed in the glowing light of rebirth,

you gracefully began your ascent.

Loving arms awaited you there,

curling you into their embrace.

Heaven welcomed an angel back home,

 rejoicing her love and her grace.

You leave behind your spirit and joy,

in those who loved you each day.

While our days will be saddened by the emptiness we feel,

we know we will see you someday.

We celebrate your rebirth and your newly found wings,

by releasing these spirits of transition.

And hope we can do honour to your memory

by carrying on your tradition.

And then the muses slowly disappeared…..

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I’ve been dreading writing this week.  I knew it was coming and as much as I thought I could distract myself with topics that did not strike me on an extremely personal level, I was wrong.

I have been enjoying a great relationship with my muse since January 1st.  Together we have posted every day since the start of the new year, sometimes twice a day, and I have become truly immersed in the creative process.  But something drastically changed with the passing of the calendar month.  My muse has slowly retreated from the active space in my mind.  It has nothing to do with the continuing frigid temperatures or the delay of springs’ arrival.  It has everything to do with the looming date of March 7th.

That day in the calendar year of 2014 irrevocably altered my life.  It seems like only hours ago I received that horrific early morning phone call to tell me my mother had passed unexpectedly and my life spun into a tornado-like funnel cloud.  Images, hours, even days blurred.  To think it will be a year on Saturday astounds me.

It feels like I am back in the first moments of coming to terms with the news and yet there have been so many firsts since then.  Birthdays, anniversaries, Thanksgiving, Christmas….all were celebrated to the best of our ability with her glaring and undeniable absence.  Knowing that she is no longer suffering the effects of her illness is the only comfort I have.  It should ease some of my suffering but the feeling of loss goes much deeper than that.

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At least each day I am still here gives me a chance to hold her memory as close as I would like to hold her in a childlike embrace.  The pain never goes away, we just think about it differently as time moves on.

 

Ashes to ashes – fiction

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heart-ants

She knew his heart would crash, landing right at her feet the moment she told him it was over.  What had been a fairy tale beginning had quickly turned into the twisted relationship only Dean Koontz could do justice in one of his macabre stories.  It had been tumultuous, to say the least, and she just needed to be free of him.

Over the course of their relationship, he had retreated into a cocoon inside his mind, fueled by the haze of booze and cigarettes.  She had not realized his heart had shrunk to such a miniscule version of what it once was until she saw it laying before her, cold and lifeless on the stony ground.

His face seemed to become more emaciated the longer she looked at him.  He had not reacted verbally to her accusations.  He could only nod in sullen agreement because he seemed to have lost the ability to speak.  She berated him, lashed out for each minute she spent wishing her life with him had been different.  With each bitter word she uttered, her Machiavellian intention became clearer to him.

She couldn’t tell if his eyes actually became bigger when he realized what was happening or if it just seemed like it because his body was withering at such a rapid rate.  His hair-line seemed to recede as she watched and his gaunt complexion resembled more of a skeleton than a human body.  She pulled the small doll from her pocket and lingered before she pushed the last pin into the woven material that covered its chest.  A small sigh escaped her lips and she plunged the final pin into the doll.  What remained of his skin and bones hastily turned to dust and fell to the cobblestone street.

She stood idle for a few moments and watched as the ants began to march single file through the crack in the stone.  Like a well trained army, they worked as a team to circle the tiny carrion and haul the remains of the lifeless heart down the hole to take home as a trophy.  Little did they know, the spell she had created would only allow that heart to exist for mere minutes after the rest of his body had disappeared.  The ants would get it into the hole but it would never remain solid long enough to present it to the colony.

As she walked away, she carefully removed each pin remembering the outcome that each jab had on his physical being.  She tossed the pins in the gutter and placed the doll safely back in her pocket, hoping, once again, this would be the last time she would need it.

~~

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Written for the Grammar Ghoul Challenge – to use the picture above – Just a lonely heart by Marina Carvalho
is licensed under CC by 2.0
,  and the word crash with the following definition – Move or cause to move with force, speed, and sudden loud noise