Today's date does not escape me. You could be one today. The year of "what-ifs" and milestones don't go unnoticed.
I think of you daily, though I must admit that I do not cry anymore. I guess time really does lessen the pain now and then.
I still feel the pressure of the hand that held mine on the day we sent you away. But more so I can feel the strength of the arms that held me up when I finally fell under the weight and the pain of the realization that you were gone.
As I work so hard towards forgiving others, I hope you can forgive me, and know that you will always be remembered.
Wednesday, July 20
Wednesday, July 6
Summer Breeze
Sand in between
Fingers and toes
Splashing water, rivers
in the sand.
Sand covers bottoms
Hair streaked with sun
A shout, a laugh, a cry
Too much beach?
A grain of sand in
a bite of sandwich,
a piece of
watermelon.
A breeze in the air
to topple umbrellas,
flutter the towels
carries with it
A memory.
The scent of charcoal
lighted with a
strike...
A match and lighter
fluid.
Comfort in the memory
Comfort in the breeze.
Fingers and toes
Splashing water, rivers
in the sand.
Sand covers bottoms
Hair streaked with sun
A shout, a laugh, a cry
Too much beach?
A grain of sand in
a bite of sandwich,
a piece of
watermelon.
A breeze in the air
to topple umbrellas,
flutter the towels
carries with it
A memory.
The scent of charcoal
lighted with a
strike...
A match and lighter
fluid.
Comfort in the memory
Comfort in the breeze.
Saturday, July 2
It's a Mom Thing
On Monday, I went to a funeral for a person I didn't know.
Last week, emails and phone calls spread like wildfire one early morning. Sadness on the day before summer vacation.
For all my criss-crossing of town and school, I had met her only once, though I'm sure I'd seen her dozens of times. She was an every mom: Soccer, ballet, camp, PTO. Our daughters were in the same class.
My husband asked me why I wanted to go to the services for someone I didn't know. But that is also a question I am sure was raised in other houses, other minds last week. "It's just a mom thing," I replied, as I looked at my oldest daughter. "It's just something I need to do."
She could have been me. Young, pretty, blonde, wife, daughter, friend, mom. Taken too soon by a heart that didn't work quite right.
Yesterday, I talked with her husband. I am so impressed by him, though I am sure shock is driving him right now. Celebrating the end of school and the start of summer with his young children at the BBQ at their teacher's home. You would not know to look at him that 8 days before his world had ceased as he knew it.
For the last 8 days, I've hugged and kissed and pinched little bathing-suited booties a little more than I did before (if that is possible!). It's just a mom thing.
Last week, emails and phone calls spread like wildfire one early morning. Sadness on the day before summer vacation.
For all my criss-crossing of town and school, I had met her only once, though I'm sure I'd seen her dozens of times. She was an every mom: Soccer, ballet, camp, PTO. Our daughters were in the same class.
My husband asked me why I wanted to go to the services for someone I didn't know. But that is also a question I am sure was raised in other houses, other minds last week. "It's just a mom thing," I replied, as I looked at my oldest daughter. "It's just something I need to do."
She could have been me. Young, pretty, blonde, wife, daughter, friend, mom. Taken too soon by a heart that didn't work quite right.
Yesterday, I talked with her husband. I am so impressed by him, though I am sure shock is driving him right now. Celebrating the end of school and the start of summer with his young children at the BBQ at their teacher's home. You would not know to look at him that 8 days before his world had ceased as he knew it.
For the last 8 days, I've hugged and kissed and pinched little bathing-suited booties a little more than I did before (if that is possible!). It's just a mom thing.
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