Travel Courage

I’m not much of a traveler. I get hit with fear; it feels like a sledgehammer pounding out the creases in my forehead. I worry about loosing my passport, catching the flu from germs on the plane, making a fool out of myself in a foreign country and ending up in jail. The list, ridiculously long, goes on forever.

Both my children, well versed in travel, did not inherit my traveling jean. In fact, my daughter spent her senior year as an exchange student in Thailand, and both kids spent time in Mexico and California with relatives.

Nik, my son, had a courage that astounded and delighted. After he died, I decided to act more courageously in his honor. So when four girl friends invited me on a 2.5-week trip to the Mexican Caribbean, I stuffed all my fears in a vintage suitcase, and placed it on the top shelf of my closet, where I can’t possibly reach it.

We swam with the turtles, fished, and ate ceviche, tamales, and fresh corn tortillas. We walked along the creamy sand that stretched across our horizon, mingled with the tourists and the locals, snorkeled, and danced in the waves.

Thank-you, Nik, for lending me your strength and your courage; I miss you everyday.

Strands of Green

Strands of green grass break through brown ground, answering the call of blue skies tinged with yellow. The geese and ducks have returned to Herrmann Pond, looking for nesting sites. An early spring has arrived, and I breathe deep, exhale slowly, and wipe the tears cascading down my cheeks. The renewal of life, crisp and bright, juxtaposed against your untimely death, and the missing in my heart that sometimes explodes like a home-made bottle rocket. I want to hug you tight, I want you to go to college, get married, and have kids. I want to call you on the phone and tell you how much I miss you…

The moment passes, and the dogs and I stroll home, hopeful of another sunny day, the birth of glorious flowers, and the gardening on the horizon. I miss you, Nik, every day.

Maria and Jesus

DaNae Maria said she took

time coming into this world

because she wanted to listen

to the beat of my heart,

as if it were the strum of

a mountain dulcimer.

Nikolas Jesus, self-proclaimed

master of his own destiny,

carved down my tunnel

like a clawhammer banjo—

fingers flying in

an intricate harmony.

DaNae Maria, like a song,

a joyful jig

on a star struck eve,

the beginning of a smile,

a graceful waltz,

a miracle of dance.

Niko Jesus, blue eyes blazing,

a painted stallion,

the beat of his heart,

thumping wild like a Bodhran.

His wicked wit

a miracle of laughter.

DaNae Maria continues to take her time,

like a slow guitar rift,

while Nikolas Jesus, forever faster

like the pounding of a snare drum

ejected out of our lives.

A seatbelt would have saved him.

Snow Covers the Ground

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Snow covers the ground

Falling without a sound

Flames inside burn brightly

Smiles glued on tightly

The tree, short and proud

Baring a colorful shroud

Of memories lost and found

As mists of time swirl round

Early you would rise

To discover your great surprise

Then my coffee you would brew

And serve it with the morning dew

Christmas greets us every year

In spite of the grief we must bare

Your smile forever lost

Your death too high a cost.

I polish my memories with a rag

And take your ornaments from a bag

They sparkle and shine in spite of dust

And a heart filled with rust.

The Wind

The day after Thanksgiving and the chimes ring loud and clear.
It's warm for this time of the year, and the wind sighs,
carrying the souls of the children, too young to die,
upward, lifting them to the stars,
where they dot the night sky like candy.

Gratitude

After Nik died, it was difficult to be thankful, count my blessings, or be grateful for anything. November is gratitude month, and with the passage of years, I can say that my cup runneth over. I have a warm fire and plenty of wood for winter, furry horses and a barn full of hay to keep them fat and sassy, an assortment of indoor pets that keep me entertained and feeling full of love, wonderful family and friends, music, words, the colors of fall, a car that runs, a truck with a plow to move winter's snow, and soft toilet paper.

Of course, right after Nik died, the month of November felt like a bitter burden, and I couldn't recite the Lord's Prayer or the Serenity Prayer. But I got out of bed every morning and made the drive to school. I moved to Sagle right before the weather turned, and had a new to me house to organize and put together. At the time, I didn't know how I could manage, but now I'm grateful I had something to keep my occupied, so I didn't always dwell on the emptiness Nik's death left, and the ever present missing.

If you are newly bereaved, I can testify that with the passage of time, the emptiness and the missing becomes lighter, and I have come to a place where I am better able to let the little things go, to stop and count my blessings, and to laugh and cry with wreckless abandon. My path has widened, and I have more than I can say grace over.

Playing With Time

In two minutes, the clock will fall back. Funny. I've already changed the time piece in my bedroom, and wait for the magic moment when my cell phone and computer will magically go back an hour. It used to confound and confuse me, this messing with my time lines. Now, I think I'll watch the ticking, try to figure out how they manage it, so I can turn back the years, and save your life.