What I love about summer is there is time to slow and observe as a child observes.
In Memoriam of you Dearest Daddy
I glanced at my fridge to a note that used to be posted on my dad’s fridge. It says: “it’s the singer, not the song,” and I wondered if he really got to sing all that he wanted…it crushes me to think how he was trapped in his body and couldn’t say a word. How I know there was so much more he wanted to do and couldn’t. I wish we could have gotten him back home…if so, would he have died peacefully like Rufus (his dear four legged friend)? Doing all he wanted to do?
I know he hated the nursing home life and when he could speak begged me to bust him out of there…it broke my heart to leave him there because I knew how much he loved his recluse home life. Life, and consequently death, is so cruel sometimes!
(I wrote this poem two days ago…it’s a little morbid…but it sure got me thinking how important it is to get your song out before you can sing the notes anymore.) ~Namaste my friends, and may your loved ones rest in peace as well.
The songbird lay lifeless before my feet.
Its neck broken.
Its body still.
Its voice silenced.
No more songs to come.
The world lost a bit of its sweetness
When your spirit fled.
Did you sing all your songs dear bird?
Did you sing every note you possibly could?
Or did some song remain stuck in your pretty little head;
And instead, you died of a broken heart because you
Could not get it out?
Alas my heart aches for you…for I am afraid to know…
Love is…
Michael from The Poetry Channel introduced me to this challenge, and I love both challenges and the topic of love. (I am a hopeless romantic.) I wrote it, but then I was gone all weekend. It may still need some tweaking, and I most certainly want to write another version, because well…you can’t talk enough about the magic of loving another beautiful soul, right?
Love exemplifies beauty
Love sings acceptance
Love envelopes harmony
Love connects spirits
Love IS…no words
Love breaks barriers
Love softens rigidity
Love bonds hearts
Love communes souls
Love IS… beyond words
Since I’ve been a little out of the loop and don’t have enough people to nominate to do the challenge, I am putting it out there for you to decide if you’d like to take the challenge on yourself. Here are the parameters. AND…happy writing!
And don’t forget to check out Michael. He’s a marvelous poet.
You’ll hear from me again on this topic. I’m positive!
Have a GRAND week.
Marie
The Black and White Writer
My dearest readers, you’ll love MIchael’s thoughts as he provokes you to examine your thoughts and opinions and take in yet another viewpoint. Things don’t always seem as they are. Enjoy! (and happy learning!)
It’s the Small Things
When I wrote, “Where are you Daddy?” I was really lost. It seems like a rollercoaster of emotions this grieving thing. I don’t like it much…but I understand the need for it. I also know that there is beauty and glory in all of it.
It’s the little things that remind me of him…my daddy. My sister and I balled when we went to his house and saw peppermints on the counter. He always had them with him in his pocket. You see my dad quit smoking 30 years ago, and his peppermints replaced that habit…so you can imagine, he always had a pocketful. Then, my sister taught him how he could let the grand kids sneak up on his lap and steal one out of his pocket. We built those memories together. At the same time, he also replaced beer with Sam’s cola. So, if we were at the store, he would ask us to get him beer & cigarettes…cola and peppermints. What fond memories.
I still hear him through music, even if it’s music we didn’t listen to together. Sometimes it’s the emotion or feeling that will zip right to my heart and remind me of him. Last summer on a road trip, and when he was in the nursing home, we listened to a lot of Carole King, Tapestry. He sure loved that album…I listened to it over and over while he would sleep. What a brilliant, soulful woman who gets to the heart of everything. While I listened, I KNEW which songs would be at his funeral…funny thing is that others have used “Way Over Yonder” for funerals before…and I never knew it. I just knew that at that at the time my daddy was in the most pain of his physical body, I prayed for his sweet release and told him he could visit “yonder” anytime he wanted…and that his mama and papa would greet him. And I also knew that the song “I Feel the Earth Move Under my Feet” would be played at the end…because my daddy would want people dancing, not crying. Even the last week of his time on earth, when he could barely move, he would rock in his chair or tap a finger to that song. It will always be our song.
I believe with all my heart that he graces me with his loving presence every day. I just get to be still and listen and look. It will be in the little things, the song of a bird, a dog that looks like his, or maybe even a Sam’s Cola.
Where are You Daddy?
I selfishly let you go…
They tell me you are at comfort and peace
now that you’ve let go of your earthly restraints.
I believed them.
For awhile.
You see, you and I have, on many occasions
connected by heart.
Why would the spiritual and physical world
be any different?
At first, I heard you everywhere,
especially in my music.
As the words slipped the singers
mouth, I felt they were the vehicle
for you to send me messages.
And now, as the rituals are over
and daily life begins back,
I feel less an less connection.
Are you truly comforted my daddy?
Are you truly at peace?
Whisper to me my daddy…
My heart desperately needs to know.
My Daddy’s Sweet Release
photo courtesy of Travis Jessop
My daddy finally received his sweet release from this world.
And now his journey continues…but without it’s restrictive form.
I was reminded this week by a dear fellow blogger, Michael,
of an old poem I read when I was younger. My dad might
have even shown it to me. It’s the perfect poem for my
poet friends. Thank you for all your support in this difficult
time. It’s bittersweet. But am grateful for his peace.
Good friends knowing that both my daddy and I love
words, especially poetry, have offered some beautiful
gold nuggets…I will, if I can, pass them along this week,
or at least weekly. Thanks for loving his sweet spirit.
A Thousand Winds
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die. – Mary Elisabeth Frye
What I’ve Learned About Aging and Dying
I’ve have been honored and blessed to get to spend time with my daddy in his last days. The community I work with has surrounded me with love and have stepped in to help with my students as I go through this process. It’s something I never thought I wanted to witness. But my daughter taught me, that while it’s painful to see a loved one aging and dying, it is also a blessing. Through watching her go through it, I am reminded that I still get to make memories; I still get to laugh and celebrate many moments.
Remember when your children were little, and you couldn’t wait to clap and cheer as they made their first steps, or ate their first solid food, or spoke for the first time? You and your spouse argue whether they said “mama” or “daddy” first? It’s like that. Each day we celebrate new things that we used to take for granted.
A good day for daddy this week was when he assisted with his getting in and out of bed. He had the energy, AND, most importantly he had a smile. He flirts with all the nurses. They ask for hugs and kisses, and he gives them back. That’s a celebration because he’s been sleeping so much and been so weak, he has hardly been able to hold his attention on anything.
Other celebrations, being able to feed yourself, being able to dance with your wheelchair to the beat of the music (even if it’s only rocking the chair back and forth. walking up and down the hail by scooting your wheelchair with your feet.
And music…music really is something that is appreciated by the elderly. They remember. They do! Sometimes it’s a finger tap or a toe tap…and sometimes, it’s a tear. But there’s a moment of remembrance…and those gray eyes twinkle for a moment. And even you are brought back to a moment in time…for me, it was this summer, getting lost with daddy in the car, when a four hour round trip became an eight hour round trip. We were headed for the coast…and got lost instead. I can’t ever remember being lost as so blissful…but it was just me and my daddy time…and it was perfect. We talked about just every day stuff…and it was good. Music can do that for you.
We’ve also gotten a chance to go for walks and see and hear the birds here. I saw my first red bird outside my daddy’s window this past winter. I remember he scooted his wheelchair with his feet to get a chance to see that bird…and though he couldn’t talk, his lips moved, and he “tweeted” again…which also reminded me of the summer which I wrote about before…they’re beautiful to listen to…their song like no other. Maybe I just hear things differently. I know that I see and feel things differently. I am blessed to make these memories with my daddy now…even though it’s a frail, broken body, ready for rest…there are still moments of beauty in our lives still waiting to be grasped. What is waiting for you?
For you My Daddy – What I Learn from you as You Leave this Mortal Life
My heart is so small
it’s almost invisible.
How can You place
such big sorrows in it?
“Look,” He answered,
“your eyes are even smaller,
yet they behold the world.” ~ Rumi ~
As you know, I’ve been writing about my daddy and how I had been developing a relationship with this vaulted man, and I began writing his story. All the while, making daily phone calls, having to get through not only the emotional vault, but the dreaded disease of Alzheimer’s and its effects of fear of people trying to harm him and steal from him. I took whatever morsels I could get because I knew a little of my dad was better than what many people get, and it was a legacy of stories for my kids and grandkids.
In October, I sent my dad an excerpt from the book so I could see if I was hitting the mark, capturing his story the way he wanted it to be told. When I received the phone call, I could hardly wait to get feedback to see if I had hit the mark and know where to take the story next. But I also braced myself for if he hated it.
“Hello dad, how are you?” I said holding my breath. His first words were strong and harsh, “Shame on you.” My heart sunk. Wow. I had not expected that. ‘What had I said? What was so wrong? ” He replied, “You made me cry.” I heaved a huge sigh of audible relief. I really wanted to get his story right. He also told me that I had written it as if I were there. This is my first time writing ANYONE’S story, so it was scary…even scarier because it was my dad. He told me he was very proud of me..and that he was looking forward to reading more of my story. The next day, my dad had a stroke. He couldn’t talk well at all. The left side of his face was sagging, so his speech was slurred. My heart crushed again…because my dad’s story book was closing…and I would no longer have access to it. Within a few days, my dad could not talk at all. We think he had several more mini strokes..because it was odd we couldn’t hear some except some basic whispers of basic conversatioins.
So now, three months later, my dad still can’t talk. It’s so very sad…and very difficult to watch. He knows what is being said all around him, but he can’t communicate his basic needs, nor can he communicate his feelings. He can no longer write…and even the simpliest communication boards don’t serve him well.
The silver lining is that each day he loses something, and I am more grateful for what I was able to hold onto the day before…which reminds me to just be as present as possible today.
As I go through this process, a million thoughts are writing across my brain. I feel them…I try to grasp them…but I am clumsy. However, I KNOW the power of words..and I KNOW they will heal…and I trust that my dad and I still have a few adventures left in us…I am optimistic. I am grateful. I am blessed.
Thank you dear God for the blessings, even in these tragic, heart breaking moments. Let us both find peace and beauty and yes, still some laughter. That’s what my daddy does best.
Take care my friends,
love your peeps.
Marie
Time for a Sweet Release
It is time
For your sweet release
Let go of this physical world
And embrace the spiritual.
There we can talk
We can play dominoes
And giggle
We can be whom
We’ve been all along
We won’t be restrained
We won’t feel frustration
It can be just you and me
Having coffee daddy
And your voice will be heard
And it will be written
A legacy embraced
And all will be as it should be
It is time.
Time for a sweet release
Trapped in a steel cage
Of silence
The tongue clumsy
Derelict of its duty
Unable to serve its master
Trapped
Unable to say
What you want
What you need
To be mad out loud
To say how you feel
Or don’t feel about anything
A mind alert without
A voice to support it
Is just that…
A trap…
So unfair
And cruel, and unusual punishment.
Let go.
It is time.
Time for a sweet release
Writing Wings For You 