Life Topics


Death is an evil muse, an uninvited bitch, tearing our fragile heart out without a thought. Emotions can be like a roller coaster climbing to highs of comfort and acceptance, then down with the sweet memories that you have in the dark, alone.  You try to hear their voice again, remember their touch.  Confusion and sadness can drape the survivors, who wonder if there is a God.  “Why” echoes throughout the grieved, a question that is flatly unanswered.

I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately.  I am on the threshold of my elder years and am starting to feel the tender pain of loss.  A pain that time will conveniently tuck away.  Hardly any time goes by that I hear of a death of someone I know or know of.  It’s depressing.  A dear friend has just passed and that caused me a quiet agony for all the memories we will never have.  Life without her has left a wide gaping hole.  She touched my life so profoundly that I feel like I’m a better person because of her.

The fear of having so many empty holes in my life scares me.  No one lives forever, however, we carry on as if death is a whisper that we cover our ears not to hear.  But our eyes and hands can see it coming after those who suffer.  All we can do is helplessly look on.  Dad is now fragile and is quickly failing.  He is like the living dead.  Every visit is our last, every hug is tighter, every laugh turns into quiet tears.  My ability to handle his impending death is doubtful.  I can’t bring myself to prepare.

I wish I knew what exactly I’m trying to say.  I just know that I am afraid of death.  Afraid of the aftermath, the sorrow, the loss.  And angry, yes angry!  I want my “whys” to be answered, but alas it’s not for me to know.  I guess the only answer to feeling this way is to live.  Don’t take the people in your life for granted.  Stop and have that conversation with your neighbor, turn off the TV and call a friend, hug for just a few seconds longer and build fabulous memories.  Because when you remember, you honor a life in a way that keeps them in your heart forever.


Life Topics

Red October

After more than 20 hours of extreme physical pain I was beyond exhausted.  I pleaded for release, an escape.  But they continued to barked orders at me. “I don’t want to do this” I repeated in defiance.  My heart felt like it was going to explode in my chest.  I was a prisoner.  It was now well beyond my control. I was fighting with every ounce of strength that I had.  None of the people in the room would listen to me.  They just kept saying to me, through low voices, that I was fine.

First, I heard an agonizing scream.  Was it coming from me?  I was confused and couldn’t tell at first.  In and out of a groggy haze, in a dimly lit room, I could see figures coming and going.  They didn’t seem concerned about my discomfort.  I realized the guttural scream was coming from deep inside me.  I was hot and uncomfortable, cursing them with each breath.  My hair was plastered down with sweat, and I was feeling nauseous.  I prayed to God for it to be over.  “Please take me now.”

They moved me to another room.  It was cold and brightly lit with hanging lamps.  I looked up and squinted because of the glare.  Again, I pleaded and cursed.   Instead of helping me, I was just told to keep going.  I wanted to go, get as far away as I could. In the transition between wake and unconsciousness, I silently begged for help.  They just turned to each other and quietly chattered amongst themselves.  I tried to hear their words to understand what was going on but couldn’t.   And then, the knife came out.

In a remarkable moment, the room fell silent.  I could feel a chill calm in the air.  Was this the end?  My breathing had slowed, and the pain was starting to subside.  I wasn’t screaming anymore.   They must have injected me with something to numb my body.  All I could hear was the din of rhythmic machines in the room. I looked up, and he was standing over me.  I noticed he had kind eyes right before I turned my head in total defeat.  It was over.

I heard a short high pitch cry. I felt my soul leave my body, floating above my captors.  I was shivering uncontrollably, as warmed blankets were lowered onto my body.  I glimpsed at the clock on the wall, it said 10:42 on this chilly autumn day.  A moment later I was gently handed my first-born child.  The nurse had quickly cleaned him up to make a fitting introduction.  As he was lowered into my arms, I saw his feet.  The first thing I noticed was that he had my ugly toes.  Why didn’t I pass on something charming and attractive?  Nonetheless, I cradled him, and softly caressed his head, his shoulders, his back and whispered, “I love you, you’re perfect.”   Through my exhaustion, I was completely relieved and happy.  I felt like I had waited forever to meet him.

The agony of a 24-hour labor was beyond worth it, as this was a well-deserved reward and an epic moment in my life.  It’s a blessing that the ordeal is soon forgotten when you first lay eyes on your child.  I realized since becoming a mother, twice, that birth was the least of my concern as a parent.  There would be a lifetime of worry to come.  With time and love I learned that they are my purpose in life – to raise my sons to be good, strong and decent men.

As far as the toes, it really doesn’t bother him. That long ugly second toe that reaches beyond the big toe isn’t the worst thing in the world.  He came to me healthy, which is all I prayed for.  Merely a superficial anomaly, an awkward physical trait.  He did, however, also inherit my humor, my nose, and my walk.  I’m not going to go as far as to say he’s my favorite, but I do gravitate to our similar dispositions.  He has been strong, independent and stubborn since the day he was born.

I survived both births and promised myself to never wear open toe shoes again.

Life Topics


grunge_backgroundLargeThe crime fits the punishment.
My bad behavior stabbed the
one I love.
It hurts my soul that I took so
little thought.

I may say I’ll change, while
pretending it didn’t happen.
Mistakes are a cry for help.
I have cried many times.

Fear of loss makes me wretch
with pain.
Don’t slam the door or the hinges
will break.
Open the door to hear
my voice of regret.

Show mercy because you
love me.
I don’t want to be a