Writing Wings For You

Marie Lukasik Wallace ~ # I LIVE Poetry – I'm passionate about life and writing and all things creative and poetic!


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Can You Take me Back Daddy?

This is how I know there’s gold in every soul.  I think back on m relationship with my dad.  What I remembered as a child…both the open man and the closed man…and then I remember the man I knew as an adult.  Most of the time closed…but there were glimpses of gold in the soul.

I wrote this recently as a pondering.  What I like is that it pointed out to me where the walls were starting to form…the prison my dad built around him.  How I was so blessed the last couple of years that the walls started to get holes in them…and then I saw shiny gold peeking out.

If I could go back to any

Moment in time

What would it be?

I think this summer

When it was

Just you and me

 

We talked so freely

Just you and me

And I imagined how

It must have been

When I was a baby

And you cradled me

And you cooed with me

And life was simpler

Before you knew

You world was crumbling

And that people weren’t happy

Before your tenderness

Was crushed by the weight

Of real life

Before you knew that the love

Of your life wasn’t as happy as you.

Could you take me there daddy?

 

I want to know what

It was like before

The monstrous voice of the drink

Allowed you to say things

That were not really you

When the hurt unleashed

And lashed out on anyone

In its path

 

Somehow I always knew

That it wasn’t you

On those cold dark days

How?

Because there were

Those quiet moments

When you taught us

Poker and dominoes

And we sat around

Like a family

And laughed and played

As if there were no cares

In the world

 

Can you take me back there daddy?

May you find gold in the soul of all those you love.  Where would you like the time machine to take you?


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Throwback Thursday – An Old Memory of Home

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When my kids were growing up, there were so many magical times.  Mostly what I loved, is that there was an air of acceptance for all of us.  We were a blended family.  By statistics, we probably shouldn’t have done as well as we had…but honestly, there was so much love in our home.  Love got us through the sticky times.. By many standards, we weren’t perfect…but for each other, we were.

Enjoy my poem of our old childhood home…Three girls and neighbors who loved us.

10893 Montana

Home of oozy goozy mud art

proudly displayed on each child’s belly

and perfect bouffant.

 

Home of last minute backyard campouts

of roasted hotdogs and marshmallows

because our neighbor Ray had made

an “emergency” run to the store.

 

Home of Friday night pizza

dance videos and mini fractured fairytale skits

for a dozen giggly girls.

 

Home of make-shift forts

of bunkbeds and sheets

And “when do you think you’ll be taking that down?

I need to water my lawn.”

 

Home of visqueen and duct tape slip and slides

and neighbors who helped realtors take the signs down

to ensure our stay.

 

Talks over fences

Neighbors mowing our lawns because we were crazy busy

Junior’s eyes dancing with delight as Sophie, our dog,

Accepted his table treasures.

 

Flooding waters making wading pools

Splashing and running carefree through them.

 

No kitchen table…but couch trampolines.

 

Home of 2 families weaving themselves

into one fabric

and clothing themselves

in their warmth and gaiety.

 

10893 Montana

Where mommy is melted on the front porch.


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Collaboration – Joy

I wrote a post this morning  on How Simple it is to Choose Joy.  HERE

And then as I sat thinking about others who are celebrating different holidays and acts of joy this season, I thought, I would love to know WHAT IS YOUR JOY?

Please let me know.  I’d love to celebrate you…your families…your traditions…your happiness.  If you want to write your comment as a poem, then do!  You know me, I LOVE WORDS!

I will keep the post open until the New Year.  (I’ll do a new collaboration then.)   Each of you will get your very own color and a link back to your blog.

I can hardly wait to read them!  Your comments combined will make a lovely poem.

MY JOY is…

Have a most lovely week my dear friends.

Namaste, Mariejoy


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The Messenger

tulip

The Messenger

Look out across

the massive field of

red bulbous tulips,

the same two foot tall structures

row after row.

And you,

lone tulip,

head held

one blossom

higher than

the others.

You,

face tilted

heavenward,

soaking in

God’s secret messages,

and piping them

to the earth.

You,

His messenger,

Remember this

When the sun

beats upon

your tiny shoulders

and you grow

weary of

it’s weight,

may you

find

the strength

to last

a little longer,

for the world needs your healing power.


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Love Your Peeps – A True Story of Alzheimer’s

Many of you know that I’ve been racing against time and Alzheimer’s in getting my dad’s story.  Sadly, my time is coming to an end.  This disease is so cruel.

Two weeks ago, I had sent my daddy two chapters of the book I was writing about him.   I was excited because I had worked really hard on them, and listened carefully to his recordings to get things down just right.

It’s not easy to write about someone who’s feelings are tightly vaulted, and who has often been very critical in my life, AND he’s my father.  I wanted to get it right.   He called me and said, “Shame on you.”  I freaked out wondering what I had said that could cause him to be upset.  Had I gotten details wrong?  Did I send the right story?

Then he continued.  Sheepishly he said, “You made me cry.  You wrote that as if you had been there.”

Inside, my heart was dancing.  He liked it!  I had gotten this most sacred portion of his story right!  Yippee!

Then, he said the ultimate, something I’ve waited for all my life, “I am proud of you.”  Shocked, I gasped and replied, “Thank you daddy.  That means a lot to me.”

A little later he said I was a good writer.   Yes, you can tell me that I really don’t need his approval, and I would agree…but there’s some part of a human that wants this approval.  I was elated and on a high…The next day, I got the call that my dad had a stroke.

The moment was bitter sweet.  I got to embrace the sweetness for such a short while.   And then, I got to find out how unmerciful Alzheimer’s really is.  And, I got to see some of it’s beauty.

I saw my dad as he must have been as a little boy…playful, fun, joyful.   And then I saw it bring him to his knees.

He begged me to bust him out of the hospital…he knew,though no one had said anything to him.  He knew that he would go from rehab to the nursing home.

So, I got to celebrate the small things, like dancing to Carole King’s, “I Feel the Earth Move under My Feet,”  even if it was only one hand.  I was grateful for any movement. It was joyous to see the joy in his face and know he could have some happiness in his life.

This past week when I called, he could only mumble undiscernible sounds.  I could hear him try to communicate with me, but he couldn’t.  Through the phone, I felt his disappointment, and it crushed me…we had had our own language, and now we had to learn a new language to communicate.

Throughout my busy week, it was conference week, I sent messages from my heart to my dad.  And when it was my last conference on Thursday, I called again.  I knew he couldn’t talk so I just talked on the phone while he made sounds…attempting to hear changes in tone or rhythm to see if I could understand.  I was determined to find a way.  But I didn’t succeed.  I was grateful he at least knew I was there and could make some sound.

Then yesterday came…I was sure I had devised a way we could communicate and had created a signal he could use to let me know how he was doing…but yesterday, he couldn’t make a sound…Not one audible sound.  The phone just laid there.  I couldn’t even tell by his breathing how he felt.  It’s funny that the little girl in me still wanted a physical connection.  I kept talking in hopes he could still hear me.  I believe he could, and I told him that I would see him in 4 days. It doesn’t feel soon enough because it’s happening so fast.

The moral of the story:  Love your peeps…hold them tight, squeeze them tight, love love love them with all your might…you never know how long you have them.  And be grateful…grateful for their touch, grateful for their smiles and movement, and yes, even their undiscernible sounds…because it’s still of the physical world, and it’s still a connection.

I love you daddy…hang in there until I can see you.

Ree

 

 


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Today’s Inention

    sunflowers up close

My great hope is to laugh as much as I cry; to get my work done and try to love somebody and have the courage to accept the love in return.~Maya Angelou
 

Today, I get to go out on the river and just be.  My intention is to be present and enjoy my beautiful family.  I will soak them in like the sun and breathe their laughter..   ~Marie


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A Father’s Story in honor of Father’s Day

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What qualifies a person to write another man’s story?  For a life is not a life unless it is fully experienced and lived, and the writer can hardly capture the essence, let alone tell a full story.But the one who has done the living is a tired soul and his hands are feeble and in pain, and his heart has been in pieces and it’s difficult for him to sort out.  And so it is that the writer must be the one to document whatever he/she can. For once a life goes, so do their libraries of stories.Two years ago, I felt the calling to get to know my dad when I walked in a Hallmark store and found a book called, “My Father’s Legacy.”  In the book are “get to know you questions” about family history, not just dates, but celebrations and dreams and memories. There were so many questions I didn’t know the answer to for my family, even basic questions of family tree information. You see, I have always wanted to get to know dad, but his life and his feelings have always been vaulted with at least a hundred locks and a secret code.  As I examined the book, I realized there was so much more I didn’t know, and the questions seemed simple enough.  So I thought to myself, “Let’s give this a try.”I introduced the book to my dad and told him I’d like to document family history and some traditions for posterity. “Hey Dad, maybe I could ask you some questions?” Dad said, “I think that’d be all right.”   When I would visit, I would ask a few questions and then I’d randomly call him and ask him some more.  However, if the question became too personal, dad would quickly close up and withdraw and suddenly had to go “feed the critters” or eat, even if he just called me!The next step on our journey, my dad then began to accept that if the question was in the book, then it was legal, and I could ask it.  It would make me giggle because he would look in the book to check if the question really was there.   What this phase allowed me to do was gain his trust.  He would feed me tidbits to see what I would do with the information.   Because my intentions were honorable and how I handled his information was honorable, he began to trust me.  From there, we could go a little deeper. There were times I would call, and he’d have to get through the roughness of his day, (Alzheimer’s has people living in fear and worry), and then I would get tidbits of information.   Other days after finishing his stories he was just done and hung up.  It was disappointing, but I knew it was part of the journey. Through patience and diligence and ears bleeding getting through the toughness of dealing with someone who is closed and stubborn and sadly going through mind games of his own, we began to forge a new relationship.  He began to look forward to my calls and sometimes called me.  The darkness was revealed less and less and the pep in his spirit was back.This week I got to visit him in Texas.  I came prepared with a list of questions in various areas, because I never know what he will be open to answer.  Needless to say, I didn’t get a lot of the prepared questions answered, but fortunate for me, I was open to the experience and whatever he had to offer me.   Because of this, I was pleasantly surprised more than once.We went on an adventure to visit his hometown of Georgewest.  He got lost, and I didn’t catch it because I had my head down taking notes…But the best part? GETTING LOST WAS A BEAUTIFUL THING. Because we were in the car seven lovely hours without phones or computers or people clamoring for his attention, we just got to laugh and be ourselves. Sometimes we didn’t talk at all.  And we can’t forget the Dairy Queen!  We both enjoyed our most favorite treat, icecream just like little kids!Daddy woke up the next day ready to take on the world.  He even talked about feeling inspired to write.  He said he had a dream that I didn’t just “come to Texas,” that I was “sent to Texas” to inspire him. I got a brilliant idea to create a feast for Father’s day.  I used a sheet as a table cloth, because daddy didn’t one, and I picked flowers from his garden and put them in his favorite mason jars.  It takes very little.  And twenty minutes before people came over, daddy gave me the most real, the most honest that I have ever seen him.  He was unafraid, and gave me the advice of a lifetime in regards to alcoholism…but I will save that for another time because it’s a most wonderful story all by itself.The trip wasn’t all peaches and roses, but it was time I treasured and got to know my daddy better. The focus was on being present and noticing. I will never know how much longer I have with him, so I embrace what I have.  Smile your silly smile dad and enjoy.

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LOVE you!!!