Some poetry. Some prose. All heart.

Friday, July 26, 2019

Long Forgotten

Long forgotten are the days when...

Tickling was the best thing ever,
And laughing made you spit up your food,
And pillow fights were eminent before bedtime,
And puppies and kittens ruled the world,
And Mom and Dad were the strongest of superheroes,
And your little brother was your partner in crime,
And dolls and make-believe were the craze,
And you sang at the top of your lungs without a care in the world,
And danced wildly without coordination,
And played instruments without a tune,
And you lifted your head upwards to look at me,
And my hug was the only one that could comfort you,
And my kisses were like gold,
And I held your hand to cross the street,
And I bandaged up your scraped knees,
And you wanted to be a movie star or chef or dancer or lawyer or pianist...
And rainbow colored socks were vital,
And so were pink and purple winter hats,
And playing zombie makeup was Dad's thing,
And softball and sports was mine,
And we all played board games together at night,
And we would go on long walks to get ice cream,

I haven't forgotten a single day.

Thursday, July 4, 2019


Your smile hides what is aching inside of you, but you can't hide it from me. Your generosity, your forgiving nature, your acts of kindness hide the gaping hole left in your heart. Even if those suffering around you don't notice your suffering -- because you tend to them, console them, help them with their grieving -- I notice your pain. I see your grief, your anguish, and how you smile to hold it all in, to protect us from it, to keep your heart from imploding.

Your laughter shines brightly, until a melody of your youth plays on the radio and your mind drifts off onto uncontrollable waves of melancholy. You recall silly childhood moments, planned schemes against your parents, and fights that led to broken furniture, spilled food, and being grounded for a month. He was the only person who accepted you as you were, your imperfections, your ugliness, your rawness -- without question -- and he is gone. He was your witness, your defense, your alibi in all your childhood claims. You have no one to reference now, only your own memory, which will slowly, eventually, abandon you too, leaving you alone with doubt at your side.

Your breath shakes whenever you speak of him, and the glimmer in your eyes dull just enough that I notice. Your stomach sinks when you realize that it's not your morbid imagination concocting these facts -- it's all too real. He is gone from this world, and you will never be able to hear his infectious laughter, or hear his Army war stories, or argue about who was the favorite child. Your eyes turn to the side and you stare off into the distance, and you wonder what could have been -- what should have been -- reiterating questions that do nothing more but reopen deep scars on your heart.

But I see you. I see your pain, even when no one else does.

You are not alone.

I am with you.