How do I begin to tell you who DJ was and what he means to his family and friends? It's impossible to tell you how many people DJ touched and how many ways he did it. If you read his obituary, you'd learn that he was seventeen years old, a junior at Hononegah High School, that he had 2 brothers and 2 sisters, and a family full of love. He loved basketball, baseball, fishing, camping, and music. He loved anything with wheels; bikes, dirt bikes, 4 wheelers, race cars and cars. He was outgoing, courageous, friendly, and loved. However, what you would never learn from that newspaper clipping is the emotional ties that were broken that tragic day at Chicory Ridge.


If I'm his teacher, I would have to be the professional and tell you that he was an average student, well liked, the class clown who always had a joke, the mediator who always tried to stop a fight, a polite and friendly young man. You wouldn't know about the lunch hours that he would spend talking to me about just about everything under the sun. You wouldn't know how I became reacquainted with my youth and race cars by listening to an exuberant teenager tell me detail by detail about how his dad, his uncle and he restored and raced a car. You wouldn't know that I'd offer to buy his lunch when he didn't have money but he'd politely refuse. So I'd give him five bucks, send him for my lunch, and tell him he could keep the change. He'd always have a joke or two to share with me and make my day a little brighter. A teacher usually says that he or she is lucky if they have an effect on one student. In my case, I would have to say that I was extremely lucky that one student, DJ, had a profound effect on me. He didn't set out to impress people or even to be the center of attention. DJ was a young man that you remembered and thought of even when he wasn't around. There's not a day that goes by that I don't miss him. He was like the son I never had!


If I'm a Roscoe Police Officer, I'd have to admit that I first met DJ when he was in trouble. Usually teenage boys, especially ones that have been in trouble, are disrespectful and hateful to the police, but not DJ. Whenever I was out patrolling, I would always see DJ, no shirt-no shoes, riding his bicycle around town. He'd always stop, flash that beautiful smile, and say hello. I'd ask if he was staying out of trouble and his response was a smile and "Always." He was responsible for providing important information that assisted the Roscoe Police in solving several crimes. One day DJ brought his best friend to the station and told him he needed to confess to something he'd done. He said we had helped him and he wanted us to help his friend too. I can't drive through town without expecting to see his smile and that wave. A young man that always made me smile!


If I'm the Hononegah school officer, I'd tell you that he was definitely one of a kind. Most students and staffers prefer to avoid the school police officer; probably people associate trouble with my office. DJ, on the other hand, stopped at my door everyday to tell me hello and ask how everything was going. The loss of DJ has left an empty hole in my day, every day. I miss that friendly smile and nothing can ever replace that.


If I'm the psychologist at Hononegah High School, I'd have to tell you that in all the years that I have been working with students, helping them deal with a classmate's untimely death, I have never had so many children affected. Usually when a student dies, I have contact with students in the same class, sometimes a few others. However, with DJ it was different. DJ touched the lives of children in every class, no matter the age. From his youngest sister's friends to his oldest sister's friends, DJ's friendship showed no boundaries. Five months later, children in elementary, middle school and high school are still affected by his loss. DJ was everyone's Big Brother. If you needed a friend, he was there. If you needed a shoulder to lean on, some one to pick you up and dust you off, someone to give you the encouragement you needed, or put a smile on your face, DJ would be first in line.


If I'm the family that lives in the home by the pond, we lost part of our family too. DJ had become part of our family when he started working on his 4-wheeler with us. We learned to love his smile and his big heart while he learned respect and kindness in return. We met because of the noisy 4 wheeler and gained a special love. During those four agonizing days, our hearts broke not only for our loss, but for the family we had gained. We opened our doors the same way we had for DJ and welcomed his family in. Now we will forever mourn our loss and we will never be able to forget those days and the pain we all shared. We were blessed by his friendship but sorrow is etched on our hearts forever.


If I'm someone who thought it was a privilege to call DJ my friend, I would have countless memories of laughter, friendship, and caring.


I might be the friend whose life was turned around, because DJ stuck by my side, keeping me out of trouble. When I thought I was a big shot and too cool to back down from a fight, DJ would talk me out of it and tell me it just wasn't worth it. When I'd get a crazy idea that was going to get me in major trouble, DJ was the leveled head that stopped me from doing it. DJ was my conscience, my strength, my leader, but most of all he was my best friend. Though I miss him terribly every day, it's a constant reminder to be a better man.


If I'm his girl friend, I could tell you how he always made me smile. How I always felt special. While most teenage guys were playing the tough guy role, DJ was my teddy bear. When I cried, he made me laugh. When I was afraid, he held my hand. When I was happy, it was because of him. We had dreams about high school dances, graduation, college, about a future together forever. What happened to our life, our future? I cry myself to sleep every night, wondering why?

If I'm the teenager that tried my best to save his life, I will never be able to forget that tragic day. Those moments are burnt into my memory forever. I will always wish that I'd been able to do more, even though I know I tried my best. I look at his family and see their pain. I will remember how a life so young as mine can end before its time. I will feel the hurt with his family that tragically became mine.


If I'm one of the hundreds of friends on DJ's myspace, you'll find comments too numerous to list. Each and every one of them talks about the pain and the loss. Each and everyone remembers the love, laughter and smiles. I might be the one that said:

    "I miss you terribly. You were the perfect friend."

or  "It gets worse and worse every day. What happened to
    it getting easier?"

or  "You were such a respectful and good person. I'm
    thankful you were my friend."

or  "I'm so glad I had the blessing of meeting you this
    summer before you were taken away."

or  "You took a part of everyone's heart with you. We will
    never be the same."

or  "I need that smile. I need that goofy joke."

or  "Please wake me up and tell me it's a horrible,
    horrible joke. I can't live with out you here."

or  "Please come back and make me laugh. It was a privilege
    to know you, to be your friend."

or  "Things are not the same without you. They'll never be
    the same."

or  "We miss you. We love you. Our hearts ache for you."

or  "No one can take your place."

If I'm a friend, the loss of DJ is unbearable. If I'm part of DJ's family, there are no words to describe my pain. You can not count the number of tears I've shed, the anger I feel, or the emptiness that fills my heart.

Stand in my shoes as I kneel at his grave, unable to grasp why he is here. How do you explain the ache of not being able to hold him in your arms or hear his voice say I love you? How do you dream of his future and remember that there's none. How do I put into words the void that fills our hearts?

Sit at our table and see the empty chair. There's no way to fill the space where DJ once sat. How do you explain the pain when you find an old tennis shoe, a catcher's mitt, or a silly little note? How do you look outside at the four-wheeler and not see him riding by. How will do you see the garden he planted or the grass he mowed and not look around for him. How do you have a family picture when one of you is missing?

If I'm his uncle, I've lost a nephew; my friend and someone who was always there for me in good times and bad. I've lost a video game partner and a movie buff as well. DJ was growing into a wonderful young man. I lost the chance to witness him grow, graduate and start a family of his own. Losing DJ has left our entire family with an empty feeling that can't ever be filled. Every holiday, every birthday, every occasion, we are and will always be reminded that DJ is not every going to be there to share with us again. Losing DJ means I lost a part of me!

If I'm his aunt, I lost a nephew; but more than that, I lost a special bond. I shared his childhood. I shared his growth into manhood. I shared his secrets. I shared his dreams. I lost the chance to share his future and all his tomorrows. On that tragic day, I lost his smile, his laughter, his friendship, and his love. Nothing can ever remove that pain and I must carry it forever. Every holiday, every birthday and every other day, I will look, but never see. Losing DJ means I lost a part of me!

If I'm his big sister, I lost my brother; that special bond that siblings have. I lost my "punching bag," my softball catcher, my antagonist, my friend. I lost the chance to tell him one more time how much I love him. I lost the chance to say I'm sorry for all the fights we had. I lost the chance for him to see my wedding and to meet his first niece. How do you ever begin to understand that your brother will never be here again? It's not fair and I'll never understand why. It wasn't supposed to be this way; no one ever said he wouldn't be here for a long, long time. Losing DJ means I lost a part of me!

If I'm his little brothers or little sister, I can't begin to understand. I cry myself to sleep at night wondering why. I can't hear a song or see his friends without being overwhelmed with pain. I see my parents and family so sad and I wonder if our family will be like this forever. How can we ever get over missing him and wanting what we will never have? He won't be there to catch ball, give wagon rides behind the lawn mower, or go camping. How do I explain that I'm failing in school because I miss my brother so much? How do I go from the honor roll to not caring at all? How can I talk about losing my brother when it hurts everyone so much? Our lives will never be the same. I lost his teasing. I love his strength. I lost his love. I lost my brother. How do you ever find words to ease the pain? Losing DJ means I lost a part of me!

If I'm his Nana, I remember my handyman who could fix most anything. I remember his infectious smiles and wonderful hugs. I remember my first-born grandson who was growing into a wonderful young man. I remember the gut wrenching pain when I got the call that he was missing. I can't forget sitting at the water's edge, begging, praying, and pleading that he'd be okay. I can't ever erase the four long agonizing days that they searched and searched for his body. I can't forget that our family will never be the same. Nothing in this world will ever erase that horrible day, and our horrible loss. Nothing will ever let me hear my grandson say I love you, Nana. How do you ever try to explain the loss of someone so precious? There are no words to describe our loss. Losing DJ means I lost a part of me!

If I'm his mom or dad, I can't take a breath or speak a word with out knowing what I have lost. We'll never plant a garden together again. We'll never build a race car again. We'll never go camping and tell stories about the fish that got away again. We'll never sing happy birthday again. Instead, we'll kneel at a grave and cry until we simply can't cry anymore. We can sit for hours and make scrapbooks and pictures. We can remember Christmas with all the presents. We can remember the Easter egg hunts and Halloween. We can remember sharing and loving each other in the past, but we can never have anything to remember in the future. There aren't any words for that! Losing DJ means I lost a part of me!

Author Notes

This is the eulogy I wrote for my grandson, Dana D. Beauchamp, Jr. on September 1, 2008. We will mourn our loss forever, but remember the love we shared. After posting "I Remember, Unable to Forget" for a contest, I decided to post this too. I hope if you read this, you will understand how loved DJ was by family and friends. Thanks you so much for taking the time to read about DJ.

"There is no such word as can't, do you understand?"

Closing my eyes, I can hear my German father towering over my skinny little twig of a body, glaring at me and demanding my attention. He wasn't expecting me to answer because a child was to be seen not heard, to listen and obey, and to accept his word, and only his word, as law.

Raised during the Depression, he was forced to quit school at an early age. He worked at every sloppy, dirty, miserable job that anyone would offer a young child. He waded through knee-deep snow, tracking a rabbit so his family would have something to eat. As he got older, he worked two full time jobs, often going without sleep for days. In his mind, he was convinced he wouldn't live if he surrendered to the word can't, a thought he refused to entertain.

My grandfather worked in the canning fields by day and as a night watchman by night. Every Friday, my grandmother would drag herself from her sickbed and wait at the gate for their meager earnings, which she would promptly spend by Monday morning. From shoveling car loads of coal, carrying fifty pound blocks of ice, shucking ears of corn till his fingers bled, piecing together junked cars to sell, cleaning manure from the barns, and finally, delivering heating fuel to homes, my father survived and declared himself a self-made man. My father was a man who did what was required without any fuss, any questions, any whimpering or whining. He just got the job done.

He carried his philosophy into his marriage. While working a full time job, my father built our home while my mother and I carried lumber, nails and anything he needed. After the house was built, my mother and I dug a small basement, removing five-gallon buckets of dirt, one bucket at a time. Working outside the home was not an option for my mother; her place was at home, cleaning and making our meals. Thinking back, I never remember her voicing an opinion about anything. Our house was immaculate and dinner was  served, quietly. Exactly as my father wanted it.

Mitzi, a 10-pound Pekingese, was my best friend, my only friend, during most of my childhood. When I finished my chores, we would sit by the riverbank and she would listen intently to every word I said. If I cried, she kissed me. If I laughed, she barked. If I sat quietly, she cuddled in my lap. If I wanted to play, she was quick to accommodate me. She was loyal and never left my side until she died.

I can't remember emotions ever being shown inside the house, at least not happy ones. I don't remember anyone ever holding my hand, giving me a hug, telling me I was loved or even that a job was well done. Later in life, I questioned his reasoning and he told me if he said I did something good, I would probably never try harder again. I remember straight A's were greeted by "Where's the pluses?" and "I can't" was punctuated with a leather belt.

As I grew older, my emotions were developed within my stories. Writing was my escape, held back only by the limitations of my imagination. The pen allowed me to find adventure, love and eventually freedom. In those days, I learned the true power of the pen and its written word.

At eighteen, I escaped my childhood by jumping from "the frying pan into the fire." However, at the time, I could only see it as a way out. I left home, got married, and had my first child before I was nineteen. After all, wasn't that the American dream? Unfortunately, my dream became a nightmare.

At four months old, my son, Johnny, was critically ill and given very little chance of survival. My military husband mentally detached himself from the situation and simply expected me to deal with it. Alone, miles from family, I listened to professionals accuse, point fingers, and declare my son to be dead, only to discover they were playing with my mind. One specialist offered me a glimmer of hope and I grabbed it, clutched it to my heart, and focused on Johnny's recovery. Never once did the word "can't" creep into my thoughts. I simply knew he must survive and I would care for him no matter what the outcome. After a seven-hour brain surgery, my baby boy returned to me, cooing softly. For the next forty years, the two of us would be side by side, struggling with his disabilities. It wasn't an easy journey, but one neither of us thought we couldn't survive. Always in the back of my mind, I could hear my father standing over that skinny, little girl and bellowing, "There is no such word as can't."

Many years later, my second son, Michael, died in a swimming accident. When they carried his lifeless, four year old body from the water, I remember wanting my heart to stop beating, too. The agony that surged through my body pounded at me like a tidal wave. For whatever reasons, my husband could not comfort me. When my eyes connected with my two trembling, scared little daughters, "can't" kicked in again. I couldn't shut down, not now, not ever. It was my responsibility to protect my children and help them understand this tragedy, even if I didn't understand it myself.

Later, I couldn't recall making the telephone call to my parents, asking them to make the two hour drive to take us home. I do remember sitting in the back seat of their car, watching my father concentrate on the highway, and struggling not to let him hear me cry. The car was silent like a tomb. I dearly wanted someone to hold me and tell me that everything would be okay, but maybe "can't" played a major role in that, too. It was my responsibility to survive, carry on, and make life possible for my family. Keeping that "stiff upper lip" was a major requirement and a lesson I'd learned well.

Privately, at Michael's grave, I screamed at God, asking Him how much I was supposed to endure. I believe I never once questioned whether He would answer me or not. If I were expected to deal with "can't", wouldn't a higher power certainly take "can't" in stride. I'd been the obedient child. I'd been the unquestioning mother, providing love and care to my oldest son when others turned away. I'd stepped willingly into the role of protector when my girls cried over the loss of their brother. Without questioning, I had filled every role required while my husband sat grieving, unresponsive to any of us. Never once though, did I say I can't do this ... because I knew can't simply wasn't an option.

After having my daughter, Corrie, the doctors were adamant that my body could not endure another pregnancy. At the age of thirty-four, I had two boys and two girls so the doctor's proclamation didn't have much of an impression on me. I never gave it another thought, especially while I was trying to hold our family together after Michael's death, a feat that was a full time job.

Physically, I was showing signs of wear. Scheduling a routine check-up, I was astonished when the doctor informed me that I was pregnant. It was his obligation to stress the seriousness of my pregnancy, how it was a strong possibility that my baby and I might not survive. It was his obligation to tell me; it was my obligation to tell him that "can't" wasn't acceptable.

After my amniocentesis, I was told I was carrying a baby boy and there was a slim chance he might be a Down syndrome child. It didn't matter! God had answered my rantings with his gift of a baby boy and I most certainly was not and could not turn my back on that gift.

For nine months, I listened to everyone's negative feedback, telling me how my family needed me and I was taking too big of a risk. Even between bouts of extreme nausea and other complications, I was determined to prove them wrong. My beautiful girls and, of course, Johnny, were always by my side, sharing love, laughter and hopefully, building a better foundation for their lives.

Lying in the cold delivery room, struggling to stay alive for my baby boy, I think "can't" met its greatest competition. My son's head was wedged in the birth canal, refusing to budge. The weaker I felt and the more he struggled, my resolve began to falter. My husband, a stout Catholic, wanted his wife saved even though it went against his faith. I, on the other hand, wanted my son saved. God had given him life and I was determined to save it, regardless of the cost. When I thought "can't" had lost the battle and I wanted to succumb, a miracle occurred and a tiny baby boy finally emerged from the birth canal, slightly misshaped but definitely alive.

From that moment on, my heart was so full of love and gratitude that I wanted to share it with every person and thing I touched. Helping anyone in need was the thing to do. Saying no or sorry, I'm too busy didn't fit the mode. Finding time to help each of my children pursue their academic dreams, start families and believe in themselves was my major goal in life. Teaching them honesty, trust, sincerity, and most of all, love was far more important than that ugly word "can't". Picking them up and dusting them off when they failed to reach a goal was what I considered my finest achievement. Telling them that "trying" was what mattered, succeeding was just an added blessing was the lesson I wanted them to learn.

My father's strong will and determination to teach me that I could survive and battle against the word "can't" probably gave me the strength to endure the many dark moments in my life and made me who I am. However, I pray that love and faith in who they are will be my legacy I leave my children.

Author Notes

I write this testimony only to show how far I believe my life had evolved and in no way is it meant as whining or disgruntled complaining. My father is who he is and believed (and still at 89 believes) he was right. If I had not learned that determination to continue down a road despite how difficult it was I probably would not have survived. For that I am thankful. I merely am glad that the strength I learned could also be used to teach my children in an entirely different way.

Chapter 7
Come Walk with Me

By Begin Again

NOTE: Many of you know that I lost my four-year-old son, Michael, on July 10, 1981. His birthday is Wednesday, June 9th. Today as I wandered through my portfolio, I found a post written in 2014 to remember him. It only had four reviews. I thought it was worthy of a second chance, so I am reposting. Thank you for taking the time to read, and I hope you can draw something helpful from it as well.

****************
 

Walk with me, my friend. 

Close your eyes and let me lead you through the maze of memories etched so visibly in my mind. Let your heart travel where no person should ever have to dwell. Share my tears and understand my pain, if only for a moment.

Our journey begins amidst wide-open spaces of rolling green grass, tailored boxwood hedges, chirping birds, blue skies, and warm sunshine. Few visit this peaceful space, except those compelled as I am.

Take a few small, easy steps. There are no cobwebs in this well-traveled corridor of my mind. Set aside thoughts of the time-worn face that led you to this memory. Instead, see a younger version of me on a blanket. A gentle breeze plays frivolously with strands of my golden hair, and sunrays dance across my cheek. Let your eyes rest upon the tiny infant, snuggled beneath a blue blanket, blissfully asleep and oblivious to the magnitude of this moment. Breathe and let every fiber of your being inhale the sweet, innocent love of this child. Feel the warmth; remember the deep love you shared with a child. Contentment envelopes you as we drift down the hallway toward darker times.

The setting is the same, but do you feel the chill that embraces us now? My blue-gray eyes are intense and locked on a square granite stone. Does a shiver run down your spine as you watch my quivering fingers outline each letter etched there? Do your tears mirror the ones glistening in my eyes as I whisper, Hello, Michael. Mommy misses you.? Can you feel your chest tighten as you witness my raw pain?

Maybe you, too, have lost someone who meant more than life itself to you. Are you overwhelmed by anguish? Does your heart ache with unspeakable pain? Does the cold, harsh truth of reality feel suffocating? As my shoulders slump beneath ravaging sobs, can you feel the emptiness that torments me?

Come quickly. Let me lead you to a quiet place where we can breathe easier, and I can tell you a little story about Michael. Calm yourself and think of better times, ones filled with love and happiness.

Michael was a unique child from the moment his father and I laid eyes on him. Bored with infancy, he wanted to explore the world as quickly as his tiny body would allow. He crawled at four months, walked at nine, and broadened his horizons in leaps and bounds. His inquisitive mind knew no fear as he rushed into this new world without hesitation. Born with the face of an angel, he combined the devil’s spirit with the charm of a child, winning the hearts of everyone.

Down this corridor are happy memories. Can you feel the lightheartedness and joy that lingers behind each door? Look, there he is with his big ole cowboy hat, using his finger to shoot our neighbor coming home from work. Oh, and there I am, almost rolling on the floor in laughter as he dances around the kitchen in his sister’s pink tutu. 

Sorry for letting that little gasp escape. It does it to me every time I visit this memory. It’s Michael, only hours before he died, trying to buy Mickey Mouse ice cream bars at the concession stand next to our cabin. He’s telling the owner to charge it to his dad. Smart four-year-old, huh? Just imagine if he’d been a teenager; who knows what he’d been charging. A car, maybe? I could dwell here forever, but I promised not to keep you long, so let's move on.

Now is where the going gets more challenging. These memories are ones I pray no parent ever has to file in their card catalog of life, but it’s one our journey must pass through. This corridor is dark, filled with despair and hopelessness. Hold on to my hand, and we will find strength together.

That’s me packing the car. We’ve spent the week at the lake, and it’s been a wonderful time. My husband is trying to explain to Michael why we are going home. Look at that obstinate little child, will you? Hands on his hips, giving his father such a serious look; after all, he is only four years old by a few days. Listen to him. His little voice is trying to explain to his dad just how wrong he is about going home. Later, his dad will remember this conversation with unbelievable sorrow, but for the moment, it seems humorous. Would you have taken the little guy seriously when he told you that he would see Peter Pan, Mickey Mouse and Jesus? Honestly, would you have put any stock into his remarks? Of course not! Neither did we.

Watch your step! There’s plenty of pitfalls along this corridor. I stumble once or twice every time I come here. Since this is your first time, I’m not sure how you will react, but I am forewarning you; it’s a tough place to go.

We’ll just stand on the outskirts of this one if you don’t mind. Regardless of how much time has passed, my heart remains vulnerable. I can feel the fear choking off my air already. Hear the sounds of the helicopters swooping down on the cornfields, parting the corn stalks with their blades. Over there, you can see the State Troopers checking all the cars as they exit the campground. 

Look at the faces of those volunteers, hoping for the best but fearing the worst. There’s the human chain, thirty desperate men walking side by side through knee-high water, praying they aren’t the one that finds Michael’s body, at the same time hoping someone does. Can you feel the adrenaline pumping in everyone? Is your heart racing, too? Do you want to scream or cry? Do you want to run wildly into the water, or do you want to turn away from the agony written on everyone’s face?

The night is settling in, and it will be dark here soon. Maybe we should walk a little faster and get past this horrific time. I am not sure that one ever gets past it, though.  Pieces seem to linger in places I least expect it.  It’s like watching a movie, and you know something scary is about to happen, but you can’t turn away. The climax is coming. Is your stomach starting to knot? Can you feel the chill? Here it comes. Are you ready? Can you watch strong men crumble into pieces? See the man carrying the little boy’s lifeless body. He’ll never erase this moment from his mind. Here it comes, my blood-curdling scream. Does it vibrate through you like a tidal wave? Does it suck life’s pulse from your veins? The sobbing, the screaming, the moaning, the agony and despair, the fiery pain burning deep within us, do you wonder if this is hell? I assure you it is.

In a flash, every dream, every thought, every feeling changed forever. Life will never be the same. You can survive, but you can’t ever go back to who you were.

Watch your step. Many pitfalls mar the road, and it’s not an easy path to follow. Everyone must grieve in their own way and on their own time. As we walk through this memory, try not to judge; instead, just think about how you would deal with the death of your child. Would you become withdrawn and secluded? Or would you turn to your faith and find answers in prayers? Or would you let your pain fester into anger and hatred? Would denial be your savior?

As we walk along this corridor, you can see our loss deeply saddens the large majority of friends, but they are moving along, some faster than others, but their lives move forward. My husband, a devout Catholic, struggles as he searches for answers within his faith but finds no way to ease the emptiness he feels. He is becoming a robot of sorts; to work, back home, to work, back home, and nothing else. Does his desperation strike a chord with you? What road would you have chosen?

Aah, there I am, trying to survive, but not sure that I want to, except I know I have other children depending on me. I can’t find peace within the walls of a church even though I believe in God with all my heart. My once happy home is a house filled with memories too painful to recall. Instead, I long to touch my son. Hoping for a miracle, I spend hours at his grave, sometimes whispering to my son and other times screaming in anger. 

Forgive my tears; this memory rips at my heart and never ceases to ease the pain. Please don’t be offended as I berate God for having taken my baby. Can you understand my confusion and disbelief? I believe in a loving, gracious, and good God, so how could this have happened? My little boy’s lifeless body lies beneath the cold earth where we stand, my heart shatters, and I have no answers to why. How would you deal with the situation? Would you be stronger than I? Could you accept what life has dealt and move on? Or would you feel too lost?

Moving forward, your eyes see a sunshiny day, but my anger won’t allow me to see the beauty of life. My grief blinds me as I search desperately for answers. Watch as I shake my fist at the clear blue sky, unstoppable tears searing my skin, and anger bubbling like lava. I’m pleading for a sign, one simple answer about my child. Can you understand my desperation? Is the sorrow too overwhelming to watch? Or do you wonder why I torture myself this way?

Just a few short breaths in time, and everything goes from black to white. Watch closely. Do you see them? Two tiny, blue butterflies. Can you feel the peace settling around us? Can you see the hatred drain from my eyes as they mesmerize me? Do you recognize my shame for chastising God? Or are you still burdened by the sorrow?

It’s been a long and difficult journey. I thank you for walking with me and for trying to see the depth of pain. There’s just one last memory I feel compelled to share with you. It takes place about six months after Michael’s death. Come travel just a little further with me.

There I am...sitting in a doctor’s office, facing my dilemma, at least in everyone else’s eyes, including a disapproving doctor. Medical problems added to months of stress, prescribed narcotics, and grief are a major negative mark against me having another child. Listen as the doctor stresses the reasons why I shouldn’t have this child. Can you tell he’s wasting his breath? Can you feel the love rushing back into my body? Do you understand how important this gift of life is to my survival? To them, it’s a game of Russian Roulette - which of us will live or die? To me, I’ve been given a gift from God and a chance to watch life spring forth with all its glory.

We began this journey at the gravesite, and thus it is fitting to end here, too. Time has moved us forward, and life’s story is still unfolding. Before we part, take one last look at mother and son as we stand arm in arm, each knowing the story that led us here, each feeling blessed to have each other, and appreciating the love we share.

As you walk away, I pray that you might have a deeper compassion for those who silently wander the halls of grief, regardless of how much time has passed. Those moments are deeply embedded on the walls of hearts and minds and will forever affect each waking moment of their lives. Some will become stronger. Others will succumb. None will know what path they will take unless they, too, have walked in these shoes. Thank you for spending this time with me. Until we meet again, live life to the fullest because we never know when it will end.

I know my son is in a better place and someday we will be together again. As a mother, grief knocks on my door now and then. It's sad, but I was blessed to have Michael if only for a short while.

I offer you smiles, hugs and best wishes for a brighter day.

 

Author Notes

Thank you for taking the time to read and appreciate the grief that each of us faces when we lose someone we love.

Chapter 8
From the mouth of Babes...

By Begin Again

"Where we going, Nana?"

"To my house. To decorate the Christmas tree."

"How come you live in our house?"

"Well ... it's really Nana's house, honey, but I let you and Mommy and Daddy live there after you were born. I lived with Papa Mike, remember?"

"My daddy says you threw us out."

"Hmmm ... Nana wouldn't do that to you. Don't you like your new house?"

"Yeah, but I liked our old house better."

"I like it, too."

"But we lived there first."

"Actually, Mommy lived there with Nana when she was little like you."

"Daddy says you're mean."

"Nana would never be mean to you, honey. I love you."

"So, are you going to give us our house back?"

"You have a big yard at your new house. I bet you'll have fun playing there this summer. And you have a pretty new bedroom. You'd miss it, wouldn't you?"

"It's not as pretty as the one at our other house. It's purple."

"Well, maybe Mommy will paint your new one purple."

"Daddy says we don't have any money. He says you want it all."

"What? ... Umm, sweetheart, Daddy shouldn't tell you stuff like that."

"He says you didn't care-"

"Kaitlyn ... honey ... Daddy never ...Oh, damn."

"Ooooh, Nana, Mommy says that's a bad word".

"I'm sorry, honey. Nana didn't mean to say it. Mommy's right. We shouldn't say naughty words."

"Are you going to be in time out? When Daddy says bad words, Mommy says he needs to be in time out."

"Does he say he's sorry?"

"No, he just gets mad. He breaks things and slams the door. I get scared."

"Yeah, I'd be scared, too."

"He almost hit Mommy. Oooh, I wasn't supposed to tell you. Mommy's going to be mad."

"I won't tell her. It'll be our secret, okay? Are those new gloves? They sure are a pretty pink."

"Mommy gave them to me."

"Mommy's a good mommy, huh? She takes good care of you."

"She says it's her job. You're her mommy. Are you going to buy her gloves 'cause she doesn't have any?"

"Hmmm ... maybe I should."

"You're the best Nana. I love you so much."

"I love you, too. Are you hungry? How about McDonalds?"

"Chicken nuggets ... hurrah."

Author Notes

Thank you corrina's creations for the little diva...much like my own grand daughter. I had this conversation with my little one as we dronve to my house...or her's as she thinks.

Chapter 9
Miracles

By Begin Again

SETTING:

Dr. John Casey is the Neurosurgeon in charge at Wesley Medical Center, a teaching hospital.

The anesthetized patient is lying on a table inside one of the sterile operating arenas. Students press against the glass above the operating room to watch the procedure. The surgical team consists of some of the finest nurses, medical staff and neurosurgeons in the area.

Though I was not in the operating room, this is how I imagine the procedure took place as they operated on my four-month-old son, Johnny. Prior to the surgery, I was given very little hope of him surviving the surgery, but it was our only hope.



A SURGICAL MONOLOGUE:


Morning, team and students.

Smooth shave, Riley. A real shiny cue ball. Couldn't have done better myself.

Students, our patient is suffering from hydrocephalus due to a skull fracture at birth. The intracranial pressure from the leaking fluid is responsible for the severe, uncontrollable seizures he is experiencing. Standard procedure would be to drain the fluid by inserting hypodermic needles and withdrawing the excess. Unfortunately, numerous attempts have failed.

Today, we are opting for an experimental procedure called a Fontanel Shunt. Our objective is to insert a shunt into the cavity, connect a drainage tube from the cranium to his stomach ... a relief valve, so to speak.

Let's get started.

Scalpel ...

Blot ... More to the left.

Drill ...

Suction ...

Blot again ...

Watch that monitor, John. His breathing is shallow.

Kate, any bleeding on that ct scanner?

Peter, administer adrenalin ... Stat.

We're losing him. Come on, little guy. You can do it.

Paddles ... again Come on ... again

Breathe, damn it! ....Don't quit on me.

Hit him again.

That's it ... breathe. Thank God!

You can stitch him up, Dr, Taylor.

Everyone else exhale.

We've just witnessed a miracle.


COMMENTS:

In 1968, the fontanel shunt was an experimental procedure. Today, it's common place. Many operating rooms are equipped with an "intraoperative" computed tomography (CT) scanner that guages a surgery's progress with razor-sharp precision during the procedure. The scanner acts as a GPS for the neurosurgeon, notifying the doctor within seconds of any abnormal function.

I was blessed that God was at the helm that day.

Chapter 10
The Love Of My LIfe

By Begin Again

Outside my window, the once colorful maple tree branches are barren. The blustery wind whips the last few remaining leaves across the yard. Gray clouds block the sun. I am sure Mother Nature must be depressed.

Inside, I sit staring at my computer screen. My thoughts lie dormant. My imaginative mind appears to have short circuited. My muse disappeared and the cold, cruel hand of Writer's Block has a firm grip on me. Like Mother Nature, I, too, am depressed.

Footsteps in the hallway tell me the love of my life is approaching. I don my happy face and smile as he enters the office.

"Hi, Honey. Did you come to see me?" We exchange a kiss. Somewhere deep in the dusty halls of my memory bank, a warm fuzzy feeling nudges my heart.

"Yeah, I needed to see the most beautiful girl in the world." He laughs. "And I found her."

I roll my eyes at his insanity. "Eye sight bad again today, huh?"

"What? You think I'm crazy?" He laughs. "I haven't totally lost my mind yet. Though, it's on shaky ground."

Over the years, his muscular chest has slipped a little. Okay, let's be honest. The only thing keeping it from falling off his chest is the leather belt strapped around his waist. It does double duty, keeping his pants on and holding up his Santa Claus belly. So he's put on a few pounds or more; when you get our age, who cares to split hairs over twenty or thirty pounds.

In the past two years, we've spent more time in doctors' offices and hospitals than we have at home. Whenever we find ourselves at the new "million dollar" heart hospital, our feeble minds believe we're on vacation; though the rates are astronomical. Being a retired caterer, I've often threatened to give their chef a lesson or two. Their idea of momma's home cooking is a salad with no dressing, mushy mash potatoes, and a piece of grey shoe leather called meat.

We've known each other for thirty two years, of which, fifteen we've been a couple. His dreamy eyes have blurred to cataract vision. Before open heart surgery, he told me not to worry because our love would keep his heart beating. I'm often accused of being the culprit that gave him diabetes; not because of my cooking, but because I'm far too sweet. I am a declared chocoholic but I don't think I can honestly be blamed for transmitting the sugar to him. His labored breathing stems from the fact I take his breath away. He insists his chronic asthma has nothing to do with it. As for his mind, I rest my case. Anyone can see he's lost it long ago. Not that I'm complaining, of course.

By now, I am sure, you wonder where this story line is going. Why would I write about two old, dilapidated people who ache in every joint, fall asleep in their recliners before the sun goes down, and believe the long list of medical personnel are distant relatives? We send them more money than our children will ever receive, and that's saying a lot. I have a shirt that tells my children I'm not the bank. Too bad, the other "so-called" relatives don't understand that concept.

Enough rambling. Smurphgirl's fabulous story telling must be contagious. A good probability, but senility is more aptly the truth.

Tomorrow, we'll travel out of state on "vacation" for the fourth time this month. The love of my life is facing another surgery because something strange is happening to his body. I've always said he was a bit on the wacky side (and loved it), but this time it's a different type of weird, one that threatens to take his life. Between surgeries, cat scans, twenty dollar pills, a vast array of medical people, and numerous promises that "this is the cure", I keep praying for a miracle. In the vast scheme of life, it might appear small to most, but earth-shattering to us.

So while I ponder on what to write for a contest called "Boxer's or Briefs", I try to imagine my dream mate. He's dressed in a hospital gown, split up the back exposing the area I so fondly call his one-man band. His pearly whites are resting peacefully inside my purse instead of nipping playfully at my gnarled fingers and turkey neck. But the best part is the love bouncing off the sterile white walls as his anesthetized mouth murmurs, "There's that beautiful girl I was looking for."

What a man! What more could this gorgeous (it's all in the eyes of the beholder, I guess) old woman want? Through my tears, I'll smile and know beyond a shadow of a doubt, I am loved.

Chapter 11
LIfe In The Balance

By Begin Again

November 22, 2010

It was a cold, blustery day. The weatherman forecasted scattered rain, but nothing unusual. It was just another dismal fall day in Midwest America.

It was mid-afternoon and I sat impatiently in front of my computer screen unable to write. I expected a call from the medical staff at the University Hospital and I was nervous.

When my cell phone rang, I almost ejected myself from my chair. The caller ID said my youngest son, Matthew, was calling. Odd, he was working and never called during business hours. My "something's wrong" brain kicked into high gear as I flipped open the phone.

"What's wrong?"

"A tornado just hit three blocks from here. Are you okay?"

I could sense a little apprehension in his voice, but on the most part, he was calm.

"Tornado?" I glanced out the window. The sun was peeking out from behind the clouds. "The sun's shining."

"Well, we're in the bathrooms and the sirens are going off. We didn't have any warning. It just hap-"

"Matthew ... Matthew." No answer. Our call was ended.

I immediately flipped the television on to Channel 13. They were already broadcasting, but it said possible thunderstorms, nothing about a tornado.

My phone rang again.

"Nana, do you know what's going on. We don't have any power." My grandson, Nathaniel, sounded excited. "My friend said it's a tornado."

"Where are you?" My brain was in grandma mode, safety first. My eyes couldn't believe what I was watching on my television screen. I needed to know exactly what was happening.

"In the basement with the dogs."

"Good! Stay there and I'll call you right back."

Modern technology and someone with a smart phone was videoing the tornado (later classified as a EF-2 with 135 MPH winds) as it tore across the ground. Suddenly, the picture went black. I held my breath, wondering and fearing the worst. The television station meteorologist said they'd lost contact.

If I heard him correctly, the tornado was minutes past Matthew's work place and my grandson. I called Nathaniel back.

"It's moved away from your house, but stay inside, okay?"

"What about the power?"

"It's going to be out for a while. Just be careful and stay inside. I'll call you back or you call me if you need me. Love you."

"Love you, too, Nana."


Only moments later, the person was videoing again. The tornado had ripped homes apart. A school bus was lying on it's side in the cornfield. Later, I learned it had been picked up and tossed across the road. like the cow in the Wizard of Oz. Five small children were injured, but thankfully, nothing was life threatening.

The story that really made me and many others thankful though was the one about six year old girl. She was sitting in her front room, watching the storm clouds. Suddenly, she saw a black funnel cloud. She called for her Daddy. When he saw the tornado moving directly toward their house, he grabbed his daughter in one arm, and the family dog in the other, propelling all of them into the basement. Halfway down, he lost his footing. The dog yelped. The little girl screamed. The father swore. A deafening sound from above followed. Clinging to each other at the bottom of the steps, they waited.

Moments later, though I am sure it seemed like much longer, the noise was gone. Unfortunately, so was the front of the house. The exact same place the little girl had been sitting was scattered in pieces around the yard.

Meteorologists were puzzled by the event's timeline. At 3 p.m., the National Weather Bureau cancelled the possibility of severe weather. At 3:03, local weather sirens were activated. At 3:04, the sky turned deadly and Rockford, Loves Park, Caledonia, and Popular Grove were hit by tornadoes.

Over 40,000 people were without power, businesses were destroyed, homes torn apart, but fortunately no lives were lost. As they surveyed the shambles, everyone was stunned but thankful they were alive.

During a live newscast, the father and his little girl stood amidst the rubble. His only response to the media was "It's a miracle we are alive. Thank God."

Author Notes

Thank You Angelheart for the stunning picture...It shows how one black cloud can change a day drastically. Thank you Channel 13 Rockford, Illinois for the most up to date coverage I have ever seen and for helping save lives.

Chapter 12
Through the Eyes of A Child

By Begin Again

Tall, muscular, a man of steel ...

At five, my Dad was my hero. The strongest, toughest man, I ever knew. He could take a sixteen pound sledge hammer, hold it high in the air and drop it down to his nose without ever bending his elbow. I never knew anyone who would even try doing it besides my dad.

At the dinner table, Dad was always telling us stories about when he was a kid. Exciting things, like riding a horse and buggy to school, riding his motorcycle up the silo like they do in the circus, and making his own airplane. When he was older, he shoveled tons of coal off the train, carried giant blocks of ice so people could keep their food cold, and picked corn for fifty cents a day. He couldn't go to the store like we do to get food, instead he had a gun and walked miles until he caught some rabbits. I didn't like it when he said he killed the poor bunnies, but he said it was all they had to eat.

He was exactly who I wanted to be. I wanted to be just like him. Of course, being a girl, I learned I had to work at it harder. My brother, who was 4 years older than me, had it easier. Even when he got in trouble at school, Mom would get mad, but Dad just laughed. He said he quit school in the fifth grade and it didn't hurt him. He would start telling us a story about his childhood and how he proved the teachers and everyone wrong. About that time, Mom gathered up her sewing and went in the other room. Guess she'd heard all Dad's stories.

I'd heard them, too. Some I could repeat word for word, but I always listened. He'd get to story-telling and forget all about my brother getting in trouble. They'd be laughing and sometimes, even forget I was sitting there. A couple of times, I tried to say something, but Dad always said they were talking "men stuff" and I wouldn't understand.

I wanted to be just like him. I followed him everywhere. watching and learning, hoping he'd see I could be just as good as my brother. If he hammered nails, I did, too. If he raked leaves, I was there by his side. The river ran by our back yard. Of course, fishing was our favorite pastime. Even though I hated the slimy feel of dew worms, I became the best worm catcher in the neighborhood, catching them two at a time.

Dad built our house, board by board by himself. It was something he'd never done, but it turned out beautiful. Two years later, he decided to dig a basement under our house. He'd shovel the dirt into five-gallon buckets and we'd carry them up the ladder out to the old pickup truck. My bucket was smaller, of course, but I carried bucket for bucket outside. Sometimes I thought my arms would fall off, but I didn't stop until Dad said we were done for the day. Sometimes, when he was working and my brother couldn't be found, my mom and I would carry buckets by ourselves. I'd be so excited to show him all the work we'd done, but he never said much. Matter of fact, the only thing I do remember is he told me to try and do better the next day.

Living in the country, my family would walk the rural roads and pick wild asparagus. Mom would drive slowly, and when our basket was full, we'd run back to the car and empty them. One day, a new car was parked in our driveway, a 1956 Buick. It was really pretty. Mom never drove again. I was a grown adult before I ever found out why. Dad had told her that the new automatic cars were much more difficult to drive than the stick shifts. She didn't say a word, but we never went asparagus picking again.

On Sundays, Dad washed and polished the car. My brother and I scrubbed and shined the rims. If we missed a spot, Dad would make us do it all over again. We understood his golden rule ... if you are going to do a job, do it right the first time.

When we traveled to Grandmother's house or went on vacation, we sat very still in the back seat, watching the telephone poles fly by the window. We didn't talk, except to answer "yes, sir" when Dad pointed out something he thought should interest us. Mom was the navigator. Sometimes, she'd miss the exit and Dad would really yell. Said she should pay attention and not get distracted. I just thought she was nervous and wasn't really sure which way Dad was planning on going anyhow. But when he asked me to read the map, I didn't give Mom much thought. Looking back, I'm very sorry about it. At the time though, I was a strutting peacock and never missed a turn. I never recognized Mom's silence as hurt. At nine years old, I was too busy checking mile markers, counting the miles, and being Dad's Navigator.

The summer before I turned thirteen was a turning point in my life. Of course, I wasn't allowed to go with my friends to town, unless I was staying at my aunt's house in the city. My two cousins were a little older than me, and our lives were light years apart. They went to movies, bowling, shopping, and when they were home, they played their stereo and danced like they were crazy. In our house, we didn't play rock and roll and we never danced. Dad said our carpet was new, not like theirs, and dancing would wear it out.

When it came to clothes, Mom made most of my dresses and shorts. Everything had to be approved by Dad. I couldn't wear halter tops, two piece swimsuits, or shorts unless they touched my knees. No low-cut necklines or tummy-showing tops were even considered appropriate to wear.

The summer of 1961 was a long, hot one. The river shrunk leaving big fissures in the dried mud bottom. Dad's flat-bottom trawler never saw water that year. Dad didn't believe in idle hands so we gardened. Didn't matter most of the flowers were dead and the hedges wouldn't grow, they needed to be neat and trimmed. The parched earth was like cement. It was my job to pull all the weeds in the hedge that bordered our huge front yard. In the heat of the afternoon, I tugged and pulled. The sweat poured down my face and back, but I never said a thing. I had a job to do and I did it.

Problem was I didn't do it to Dad's standards. The top of the weeds were breaking off , leaving the roots still in the ground. He instructed me to make sure I got all the weed, not just the top. Being the "little engine that could" I gave it my best effort, but they continued to break. I pushed the weeds into my bucket and kept trying, hoping he wouldn't notice. Nothing got by him, including my inability to pull the roots.

When he saw the bucket, he exploded, yelling at me to do it right. I tried to explain. That was my big mistake. Telling Dad you couldn't do something set off fireworks bigger than the Fourth of July. There is no word in his dictionary called can't.


His work-worn hand grabbed the back of my shirt and jerked me to my feet. With his other hand, he undid his leather belt. I was immobilized by fear. The leather snapped against my legs, my back, my bottom. The pain seared through my body. When he stopped, I stumbled to the ground, sobbing. He shouted, "Now get the weeds pulled."

I crawled over to the hedges. Long red welts covered my long skinny legs and side. I was stunned. I couldn't fathom what I had done to deserve a beating, especially with his belt.

Mom brought a bucket of water and soaked the ground. She never said a word and neither did I. I was grateful and for the first time, I understood her silence. Bucket after bucket, we drenched the ground and pulled weeds side by side. I was sure she understood my confusion and pain. I was just beginning to understand her pain, too.

The next morning, I stood in front of my mirror, examining my ugly purple, blue, and yellow skin. I wanted to hate him, but I couldn't. I wanted to lash out at him, but I couldn't. A small part of me wanted to say I'm sorry I disappointed you, but I couldn't.

It would be many, many years before I came to terms with what I felt for my Dad. An invisible line had been drawn between us, the line of right and wrong. My hero, the man I looked up to, my dad had lost my respect.

I no longer wanted to be just like him. I wanted to be me!

Author Notes

Thank you Sharon for the use of your wonderful artwork.

Chapter 13
In The Land of Oz

By Begin Again

The trees swayed with the howling winds. Thick fog hung in the air. The little ones scampered from house to house, oblivious to the haunting night.

Scrambling up the steps, they crowded together, elbowing one another, trying to be first.

Nana opened the door.

The adorable goblins screamed, "Trick or Treat."

She dropped candy bars in each bag till it was her three-year-old granddaughter's turn. "Oh, Kaitlyn, you're just so cute and Toto, too."

The pig-tailed munchkin stamped her red slipper against the porch floor. Indignant, she exclaimed, "Nana, you're wrong. My name's Dorothy. Mommy said I'm not Kaitlyn today."

Author Notes

Thank you Sweet Linda for the use of your artwork.

Chapter 14
Getting The Last Word

By Begin Again

Excuse me, could I get your attention, please.

Damn!

Oops, sorry Lord. Hope you won't hold that slip against me. Trying to get this family's attention is a major chore, but then who am I telling you this? You oughta already know what I'm talking about.

Excuse me, I'd like to say a word or two, after all I am the guest of honor.

Oh, Kaitlyn, don't be scared. Nana's just taking a well deserved nap, honey. In a little while, she'll be free of all these ole aches and pains, sitting on the softest pillow of clouds, watching the angels hand out wings. Remember last Halloween ... you were so cute dancing around in your Tinker Bell wings. Of course, Nana won't be as cute as you. I just hope I get a pair.

Gavin, you look like you're about to croak. Oops, maybe that wasn't the best choice of words, but you know what I mean. Loosen that tie, boy. I know Mommy wanted you to look all grown up, but this is Nana talking. Can't be stifling your growth, not that that's going to happen. You must be growing an inch a day. Anyhow, I just want you to know how proud I am of you and how much I love you. Next time you and Dad are watching the Packers lose ... okay ... okay ... settle down. I'll rephrase that. When the Packers are about to lose to the Bears, I want you to think of Nana. I'll be that big gust of wind ... hot air is what your dad would say ... but you know what I mean. I'll send the football through the goal posts for the winning field goal. Don't tell anyone I told you that though, because we can't have them thinking we fixed the game, or more importantly, that you've gone nuts.

Ahh, here comes Mommy. You two stand over there and watch. Bet she jumps or screams when I talk to her. Don't laugh too loud, because she'll get mad, Can't have one of those 'you know better than that' lectures right now, can we?

Don't cry, Corrine, oops ... Corrie. You know I gave you that lovely name the moment I laid eyes on your beautiful face. Until my dying days ... oh, I can't get use to this ... another bad choice of words, but you know what I mean ... you and I will never see eye to eye on your name or a lot of other things for that matter.

Hey, what are you doing? Please ... you aren't really answering that cell phone are you? I'm trying to talk to you. Lord, help me. Can't you even listen to my last words?

Thank you for hanging up so quickly. I'll try to talk fast before it rings again. Oh, you put it on vibrate. That was considerate of you, thanks.

There's so much I wanted to share with you, but I guess time ran out. I am grateful for all the good times and even for the bad, I guess. At least, we never stayed mad at each other very long and never, ever stopped loving each other. I couldn't ask for a better daughter ... well, maybe your "trucker mouth" could be curbed a little. Ah,ah, don't try to argue with me. If I get to Heaven, I'll see if they've got a miracle cure or at least a little help they can send your way. Though I guess the best cure will be when your darling daughter spews out a mouthful of those colorful words at the most inopportune time ... I'll be laughing my head off. Just remember, I told you so.

Matthew, my baby boy. Ouch! Such a face. Sorry, but you will always be my baby boy regardless of how old you are. Wish I could have stayed around long enough to see your name in lights. It was a dream come true to write a book with you. I believe ... and I know you do, too ... you won't quit until it's on the big screen. As you walk down the red carpet to accept the golden Oscar, I'll be walking right beside you, beaming from ear to ear. I'll try not to smile to big ... don't want the glow washing out the photo ops. My son, the Producer.

Here comes your brother. You're going to have to look after him now. I'm not going to be around. Matthew, I've left you a little extra money ... I know, I know, I didn't have to, but that's what Mom's are for. You can take him to the wrestling matches and a movie now and then. John always loved those times and I know you did as well. Maybe I'll even watch one with you guys, but that's a big maybe. Quit your laughing. I might just surprise you.

Hey, John, I'm really going to miss your big ole hugs and sloppy kisses. God blessed me with a very special young man the day you were born. Some would say your special needs were a burden, but not me. Each and every day you flashed that smile and told me what a good mom I was ... I knew I was blessed.

I'm not going to be there to remind you a package of hot dogs is suppose to last you more than one day, or that your face needs to make friends with the razor, so you're going to have to work on remembering that yourself. I'm sure your brother or sisters will help you out.

I won't bother telling you not to change one thing about yourself, because I know you won't. Everyone's your friend. You've got a heart of gold and enough love to melt all the evil in the world. God's got a special place in Heaven when it's your time to come, but there's no need to hurry, you hear.

Last but far from least, Wendy ... The more you tried to venture in another direction, away from me, it appears you still walked in my shoes. Life hasn't been easy, but you've survived the sorrow and became a stronger person because of it. When things get tough, and you know they will, find the brightest star in the sky. I know you won't share your feelings with anyone so just look up there and I'll be watching, beaming with pride at your successes and helping you up if you stumble. No one else will see me so you don't have to admit you leaned on me or anyone else. You did it on your own!

Oh ... I can't believe it ... my sweet Aussie Sis. You shouldn't have traveled all this way. Yeah, I know. We promised to talk face to face some day, but this is a bit of the extreme, isn't it? Well, maybe not for you ... you've always had that wonderful connection with the other side. Hey, just think, I can sit on the beach with you now, watching those pelicans and laughing as the people walk by. You're the best Sis ever ... even if you did call me Bitch. Thought I'd forget, didn't you? Just kidding ... I finally get to have the last word. So there

As for the rest of my family and every dear friend I have been fortunate to have met, there aren't words for how precious each and every one of you are to me. I've been blessed at times I least expected it. Your helping hands and kindness will forever fill my heart. I hope life showers you with all the blessings you deserve.

Oh, my gosh, I'd be truly sorry if I forgot to express my final thoughts to my FanStory friends. Many of you have lifted my sagging spirit and showered me with stars at some of my lowest points in life. Without your encouragement and support, I might never have fulfilled my dream of writing and sharing my stories. Every day I enjoyed the pleasures of sharing with you, I was blessed.

Oh, turn off the tears ... including mine ... can't ruin my last make-up job. Really like the youthful glow ... hmmph .. who am I kidding? We all know it must be the lights in here because youth left a long, long time ago. They really did a nice job, didn't they? Could have used a little paler lipstick, but I guess it doesn't really matter now, does it? No need to be nit-picking.

I'm not positive where I'm going. If it's the 'hot place', make ups not going to last anyhow. But if I'm blessed and find myself in Heaven, I'll slip God a note telling him how each and everyone of you have blessed me with your friendship and love. You always had room in your heart to spread a little love my way.

No, John, that's not like peanut butter and jelly. Well, maybe it is ... your sweet love certainly stuck to us all.

Dry your tears, put on a happy smile and listen ... They're playing my song.

Oh, when the saints go marching in, Oh when the saints go marching in, I want to be in that number, when the saints go marching in ...

Sorry kids ... I just had to do it!

Love you but I gotta go. I can rest at last. Maybe not. It's probably going to be a full time job watching over each of you. Oh well, you and I already know I'll love every minute of it. You're the best!

One last kiss and hug for each and everyone of you ... No, Mel, you can't have the last word!

Author Notes

Thank you Moonwillow for the outstanding photo...

Chapter 15
Daddy's Hands

By Begin Again

"If your mother could see you now, girl -"

"What?" Carrie screamed. "She wouldn't be like you, that's for sure."

"You ain't been worth a dime since you were born." Age hadn't decreased the old man's foreboding stature. His acidic words scalded her heart as he loomed above her.

"It's all about money with you, isn't it?" She firmly planted her feet, standing her ground, though shrouded in pain.

"Without my money, this whole family would be worth nothing." He stepped closer, his body language threatening.

A chill snaked over her body. She struggled to regain her composure.

Don't let him do this to you again. He's just an old man, set in his ways.

Defiant, she took a small step toward him. "Did I ask for your help, Dad?"

"Pffft ... this whole family is always whining about hard times as if they know anything about it. When I was your age -"

"Yeah, I know, I know. You're the only one who ever had it tough." She shook her head, almost able to repeat his stories verbatim. "Shoveled coal, hunted rabbits, nearly starved -"

"You better watch your mouth 'cause I ain't dead yet. I'll make sure you never get a penny of my money."

"Keep it! Maybe they'll bury you with it," she snapped, swatting away the threatening tears. She hadn't meant to say that, but his vile words forced her to strike back.

"Better than you wasting it. Just like your grandmother ... thought she had money to burn. Hated that woman, always giving everything away."

"She had a good heart, more than I can say-"

"Heart don't put food on the table or a roof over your head. Hard work does." His spit speckled her face.

Wiping her cheeks with the palm of her hand, she turned to leave, but he couldn't resist one last shot. "Run, get out of my sight. I got work to do. Maybe I'll do you a favor and die while I'm at it."

The door slammed behind her as she escaped to her car and home.



Why do I let him get to me? He's never going to change.

Emotionally drained, Carrie slumped against the back of the overstuffed chair. Closing her eyes, trying to shut out the world, she drifted into a restless sleep.




Small clusters of people mingled around the large room. The elderly spoke in soft tones, raised to respect the dead. Young people listened to their i-pods, texted their friends, and joked with each other. Their laughter drifted around the room. A few remembered the man and eagerly shared their thoughts.



"Bet I can't count how many times he told the one about walking into the bank and getting a $60,000 loan without ever signing anything."

"Wonder if that money bought him a spot in Heaven?"

"I highly doubt they made room for him there."

"Shhh ... She might hear you. He was her dad, after all."

"Humph ... he never did her any favors." Several in the group nodded in agreement.

"I remember her sixteenth birthday. She prayed she'd get a car, even an old clunker or at least a down payment. After repeating for the millionth time how he drove a horse and buggy to school, he gave her a set of keys." The speaker continued after stifling a chuckle, "Keys to a small safe and five dollars. Generous to the core he was."

"Don't forget the note he wrote. 'Earn it. I did.' Wasn't satisfied with just the obvious slam. Had to remind her of how he was a self-made man."

"I can top that one. She graduated with honors. Didn't mention one word about how proud he was or her good work. Instead, he gave her a doll. I think it was a nurse. Anyhow, it had a note, too. Said something like 'Go make something of yourself or at least try.'"

"Personally, she's probably better off without him. He always flaunted his money over her. I don't think he ever told her he appreciated all she tried to do for him after her mom died."

"You got to be kidding. There was a right way, a wrong way, and his way. Poor Carrie never seemed to be able to please the old man."

"Could anybody?"

"Doubt it, but she was his own flesh-and-blood. You expect your parents to cut you a little slack, don't you?"

"Not him. Nothing was ever good enough."

The truth in their words stung. Carrie moved away, out of listening distance.


She stared at the man lying in front of her. Her eyes scanned his weathered face, coming to rest on his rough hands. Those big hands had worked hard ... shoveled coal, picked corn, carried blocks of ice, built their home ... but they'd never hugged her or given her an encouraging pat.

Why couldn't you love me, Daddy? I know I wasn't the boy you wanted, but I tried. God knows I tried.


Numb to her surroundings, she wasn't aware of the minister standing nearby until his baritone voice interrupted her thoughts.

"He wasn't an easy man to live with, but he meant well, Carrie." He placed a reassuring arm around her shoulder, attempting to comfort her.

Unable to find any words, she nodded, returning her gaze to her father's face.

"I was with him at the end. He asked me to give you this." He extended his hand, offering its contents to her. Nervously, she accepted it. He patted her shoulder once more, and stepped away.

Her trembling fingers opened the flap of the envelope. Wild thoughts whirled around inside her head. What would be her father's last words.

Couldn't leave me in peace, huh, Dad? Had to have that final say, didn't you?

Swallowing the bile in her throat, her eyes scanned the first few scrawled words on the page. Taking a deep breath, she allowed herself to continue to read.



Carrie,

We both know I'm a cantankerous old man set in my ways. Been through a lot of hard times in my life. Worked day and night to put a roof over our heads, food on the table, and money in the bank. Didn't mind though cause I only wanted the best for you and your Mom.

Yeah, I know, Dad. You reminded me enough times.

Somewhere along the line, I guess I forgot what was really important.

"You think?" She glanced around to see if anyone heard her, quickly scolded herself for being flippant.

I'm beginning to sound just like Matthew. Mother like son.

Her eyes returned to the shaky scribbling, her father's last thoughts.

Hope you can forgive -

Carrie re-read the words, almost choking in disbelief.

Hope you can forgive me. Don't deserve it, but I'm counting on your generous heart-

Blinded by salty tears, she pursed her quivering lips.

"Oh Daddy -"

Taking a deep breath, she continued to read.

When your mom passed on, I didn't want to live anymore. In a way, I thought my life ended that day, but I was wrong. I turned a blind eye to the wonderful woman you've become. I'm damn lucky to have you for my daughter.

I've been a fool. I'm sorry.

The back of her hand brushed away the tears as she struggled to absorb what she was reading. The words blurred. She wanted ... no ... needed to finish reading.

The next three words exploded in her heart.

I love you.

Sob after sob racked her body as she clung to the tiny piece of paper. His words echoed in her mind, words she thought she'd never hear her father say. Kneeling in front of the casket, she carefully laid her hand over his, gently squeezing it.

"I love you, too, Dad."





"Mom, Mom, wake up. Someone's on the phone for you." Matthew continued to shake his mother's arm.

"What?" Confused, Carrie sat up in the chair. Her hand touched the dampness on her cheeks.

"Earth to Mom, did you hear me?"

"Sorry. I guess I was dreaming." Shaking the remnants of the dream from her head, she turned her attention to her son. "Who is it?"

"Somebody from the hospital." He shrugged his shoulders. "The lady just asked for you."

The icy fingers of fear played rat-a-tat-tat up and down her spine. "The hospital?"




Please, God, not now.


Carrie raised the telephone receiver to her mouth.


"Hello." and a few seconds later, followed with, "Yes, this is she."

Tension filled every corner of the room as she listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

"I'll be right there." The phone went dead. The color drained from her face.

"Mom, what is it?"

"Your grandfather's had a heart attack. He's in the critical care unit." She glanced around the room, looking for her purse.

"Serves the old man right-"

Her normally quiet voice spiked several notches. "Matthew, don't talk that way about your grandfather."

"What? He's mean. Why should we care?" Stunned by her reprimand, he added, "Look how he treats you."

A heavy sigh slipped over her lips. "Yeah, you're right, but deep down inside I have to believe he loves us in his own way."

"You think?" Disbelief dripped from his words.

Pulling him close to her chest, she murmured, "Yeah, I think!"

Grabbing the car keys, she kissed his cheek. "Come on. Let's go."

Closing the door behind him, they hurried to the car. Seeing concern written all over his mom's face, Matthew questioned her. "You think Grandpa's going to be okay, Mom?"

"I hope so." Forcing a smile, she added, "He's too cantankerous to die."

"Yeah, he's got at least a hundred more stories to tell."

They laughed as Carrie backed the car out of the driveway.

Hang in there, Dad. Don't quit on me now.

Author Notes

Once again, my short story for a contest gained a life of it's own and surpassed the limitations allowed. Based on many factual emotions and occurences, my words wouldn't be contained. It became a labor of love instead. Thank you Loyd for your fabulous photo.

Chapter 16
Believe in Your Tomorrows

By Begin Again

Psst ... Hey you, the tomboy sitting high in the tree, the girl with the scruffy ponytail. Yeah, I'm talking to you. I saw you writing in that notebook of yours, afraid to let anyone else see your thoughts. It's okay. As a matter of fact, it's more than okay; it's perfect. Your imagination and ability to express yourself in stories will someday be more than just an escape; it will bring pleasure to many, including yourself.

Saw you down at the river yesterday. Pretty brave putting those disgusting worms on your fishing hook. Even saw that glow in your eye as you wiped your hands off on your blue jeans, just like Dad. I also saw your small fingers swat away the tear brimming in the corner of your eye when Dad and your big brother laughed themselves silly at the tiny crappie you caught. I didn't see either of them taking home the "catch of the day." Right then and there, I knew if given a chance, I would have a long, long chat with you.

Now I know you're probably already scolding yourself for daydreaming, but listen to me, life's going to deliver you some raw deals, and you need to start right now believing in yourself and who you are. You are never going to be the little boy Dad wanted. He's never going to appreciate the terrific daughter God chose to bless him and your mother with. Learning that lesson now will save you tons and tons of heartache.

Okay, so maybe you are too young to comprehend why someone wouldn't love you for who you are, accept and appreciate your talents instead of wishing for something else. Heck, I'm 62 and still struggling every day with that one.

I stole a peek at a few of your stories in your journal. I know, I know. It's not polite to pry into someone's personal diary, but since technically we are one and the same, I considered it my writing too. I'd forgotten how creative and inspirational you are and how much love you carry in your heart for everyone, even those who hurt you.

You try to act tough when Mommy yells at you. Broad shoulders and thick skin when she tells you that you'll never be good enough for Daddy. When you secretly swear under your breath at her, calling her a sick, crazy lady, I know that deep down inside, you are afraid she might be right. I wish I could make you understand that when you become an adult and have children of your own, you'll discover Mommy was fighting her own battles with illness and Daddy, and unfortunately, didn't know how to make you understand. In time, she will become your best friend, your companion, and will stand in battle at your side, regardless of the cost to her.

One of my biggest regrets is not showing you what a strong person you are becoming because of who and what you are, not because of Daddy. When you lie in bed at night, rubbing those welts the belt left and wondering why you're so stupid, I wish I could dry your tears and tell you that this too will pass. You will never forget the pain, but you will remember the injustice when you reprimand your own children.

Your determination to shine in your father's eyes will be the foundation for your scholastic achievements. I wish I could prepare you for the crushing blow Daddy will deliver when you proudly hand him your final report card. He'll take one look at all the A's while you patiently stand there awaiting his atta-girl praise, and then, without any hesitation, he'll cruelly demand to know why they weren't A-pluses. It's going to hurt like hell. After you pick yourself up, dust off the disbelief, you're going to walk away. At first, you're going to be focused on your failure to please him, but somewhere deeply seeded in your mind, a small voice will encourage you to believe in yourself. It's going to take a lifetime to disconnect your successes and his lack of encouragement totally, but each day you'll move forward, and that's a success in its self.


Of course, adopting the "I'll show you" attitude isn't going to be the easiest road traveled either. When the first young man sweeps you off your feet and promises you the good life, you're going to snatch the chance in a heartbeat. Clinging to those rose-colored glasses, you'll convince yourself things couldn't get any worse. When dreamboat turns into steamboat and life gets rocky, don't put on the blinders. Living in hell to show Daddy that you didn't make a mistake will be one of the biggest errors in your life. Ignoring his faults and whitewashing the situation will cost you and your children a lifetime of pain and sorrow. Daddy's motto of "making your bed and lying in it" does not apply to this situation. Listen to your heart. Trust in yourself. Walk away before it's too late.

When faced with raising a "special needs" child as a single parent, don't hang your head and ask what you did wrong. Instead, believe in yourself and expect others to carry their own blame. Take pride in every achievement you and your son obtain, regardless of how small. When the medical society shakes their head and gives little hope, stare them in the eyes and tell them they're wrong. You don't know it now, but you will have the strength to endure, and every success will be a moment you will never forget.


Life has a funny way of throwing curves and hardballs when you least expect it. You're going to meet another man who will love you with all his heart until both of you are faced with the darkest moment in either of your lives ... the death of a son. From that moment, neither of your lives will ever be the same. You will believe that it is your sole responsibility to protect and care for your family, to lead them through the pain and sorrow. I want to stand on the highest mountain and scream at the top of my lungs, so you hear this, even if you hear nothing else. Grieve and grieve hard. If you do not allow yourself to feel the loss, your wound will never heal. Caring for others and helping them move forward doesn't make your pain disappear. It will be lurking nearby, waiting to emerge and drag you down when you least expect it. You'll stand in the bathroom, gazing into the mirror, and tell yourself it's your job, your duty to care about your family. You're right, but who's going to care about you, especially when you don't?


Somewhere down the line, your grief and his lack of understanding will leave you alone again. You'll go through a lot of weary days and torturous nights wondering why. Only God has that answer, and he's not about to share it with you or anyone else at the moment. Beating yourself up over it won't make it right either.

By now, you will know and understand your life's pattern. You take some hard knocks, get hit and stumble to the ground, but you'll always find the strength hidden deep inside to stand tall and begin again. Over the next fifteen years, you will work sixteen-hour days, sometimes longer, making a living for your family. You won't complain. You'll beat the odds and earn the respect of hundreds of people in the corporate field. Though a part of you will still be waiting for that pat on the back from Dad, you'll know it's not coming, and that's a step in the right direction. I can't tell you his lack of pride won't hurt because it will, but I can tell you others will see the strong woman you have become. They will recognize and appreciate the real you. You'll have successfully put your children through college, taught them to be strong and independent, and given them what you've been missing in life ... love and respect. Knowing that the mighty dollar is desirable but not the foundation for happiness will be your legacy to them.

When you sign your name on the dotted line, officially becoming a senior citizen collecting social security, sit back and remember the good things, regardless of how small they may have been. Clear off those dusty files in your mind and know that you did the best you could. Be proud of who you are!


You'll find that life has come full circle, and now it's your turn to care for your parents. One day, you'll shake your head and wonder why you couldn't see how hard your mother was struggling and feel bad about those cursed words you smothered. The good part is she never heard them, and even if she had, she'd understand. After all, she's lived 63 years under the thumb of the man you tried so hard to please.

I want to tell you your father will have mellowed, but unfortunately, he will have become a bitter and unhappy man. Warning you about his disregard for anyone's feelings seems redundant at this point of your life, but after all, he is your father. Knowing his faults won't soften the pain when he tells you how worthless you have been since childhood. Instead, I'll rely on your resilience and faith in yourself to get through this one. Stand tall and remember he's not walked in your shoes, faced your pain, or fought your battles. You did that on your own and lived to see another day. Knowing you as I do, you'll feel pity for the man who will never really know the wonderful daughter God gave to him.

Before I go, I want to leave you with one last thought, something to get you through all the rough spots you'll have to face during your lifetime.

Grab those lemons and turn them into lemonade, and then raise a glass in recognition of who you are ... a woman who isn't afraid to begin again.













 

Author Notes

Thank you Sandra for the use of your lovely picture.

Chapter 17
Falling With No Where To Go

By Begin Again

Today is a new day ... a chance to begin again, I guess. I thought
I'd lived my life the way God meant it to be. Forgive and forget ... turn
the other cheek ... do unto others as you would want them to do unto
you ... look for the best in someone. Now I've come to the conclusion that I must have been doing it all wrong and I've failed horribly at what I wanted to do the best.

I was never perfect. Matter of fact, if the truth be known, deep inside of me, I never ever thought I was good enough. At an early age, it was engrained in me that you must always succeed, always win, always keep trying and never accept failure. I believe for the most part that I managed to maintain those goals in my professional life. I strived to be the best that I could when I was a secretary, an executive assistant, and finally a business owner. Whether it was my own business or someone else's, I can honestly say I gave 100%, and then some more, in some cases.

The desire to receive recognition and praise for succeeding burned like a fire inside of me, a fire that needed to flourish like the California wildfires, I guess. I never seemed to find that satisfaction that I was looking for from others. Of course, I could tell myself that I had gone well beyond any effort that others would do, and I could see the physical rewards. For some that would probably be enough, but for me I needed more. I wanted, no, needed, to know that others saw a value in what I did. A value that meant more than 'you did a good job, made me look good so keep up the good work' kind of value.

When I started my business, I did it for two reasons. One, I wanted to be able to give my children a better life, give them things I'd never had. Second, I wanted to prove to myself and to others that I could build a successful business from the ground up, proving that I had struggled against all odds, and succeeded. I was thrilled to go the extra mile for customers just so that I could see their pleasure and their appreciation. Success and long hours of hard work gave me the opportunity to give my children all the things they wanted. Even though circumstances, economical as well as personal, have eliminated the business, I believe I accomplished my goals and I am happy.

In my heart, I never thought that motherhood would ever be more
complicated and painful than the business world. In books, pictures,
shows, or anywhere else you look, motherhood is pictured as a warm, loving embrace between mother and child. I should have known from the beginning with my first born that loving a child is far more complicated.

I loved having a child and being able to show how much that little life meant to me and my existence. Little did I know, I would be faced with such a terrifying struggle daily in a few short months of life. Some people gave up on him, others said I should lock him away and move on with my life, even his other parent responded as if the tragedy we faced was only a movie, something you could turn off with the click of a remote. God had given me this little life, slightly damaged, and it was my sole responsibility to nurture him. It was not a short term contract, but a lifetime one. A contract I never questioned or asked why me. When others thought he would be a vegetable, I fought for his survival and taught him to be the best he could. He's proven everyone wrong! Who's to say what perfect is, but he has a heart of gold. At times it's stressing to look at him all grown up and want more for him, but he is who he is and we can not ask more of him than that. He gives unconditional love to everyone. Isn't that what God wanted?

My first born son taught me I was right to turn my back on those who thought his life held little value. In his own way, he has given more to this family than most. He is always there when asked. He works hard for his family when asked and receives little in return. He finds happiness in the small things. How blissfully happy and content is the "unlucky" child.

My second child, a daughter, was a gymnast, a dancer, a musician,
a worker and a protector. Unfortunately, she was probably cheated from a stress free childhood because of her brother. Demands were made on her in early childhood to watch and protect her brother. A job that was demanding for adults let alone a small child. I know I tried to give her that childhood by being her girl scout leader, giving special parties, attending dance classes and musical events. I tried to give her a bountiful life filled with new adventures. I also tried to protect her from the unsavory. In the end, she adopted my need to succeed and prove to the world that she could do it on her own.

Unfortunately, for me, her need to stand on her own, closed the door on me. I'm happy for her outstanding successes, but I'm devastated that I lost a connection between us. I search within me for the answers of where I could have changed things, but I never find them. Giving of myself and all my worldly goods were obviously not enough for this child. She needs to prove her strength and individualism so much that she does not need me. For this child, I shall never hear or feel what I strived so hard to give. Maybe someday she will tell me where our paths parted, but more than likely not. I wonder if she knows or cares how deeply I feel the pain. After all, my goal was to love and be loved by my children. I'm grateful for the Happy Mother's Day text message, but I hoped I meant a little more than that. Just wondering why she didn't see my efforts as a mom ... or why I saw them so differently than her.

The middle child, God's blessing in disguise. A surprise from the start and definitely a devil in angel's clothing. A beautiful smile, a wonderful laugh and a mischievous mind. In the short four years that he blessed my life, he made every moment memorable. He was full of love and life bubbled over in him. He lived life to the fullest, investigating and unknowingly leaving a world of memories behind. Even in his death, he eased my pain and gave me the gift of butterflies...tiny blue butterflies.

My heart breaks for our loss, but his love lives in my heart and when I
close my eyes I see his tiny smile and the world is beautiful again.

The fourth child ... a petite, beautiful, little girl that I hoped to share so much. I believed this little girl would always be close to my heart. She came at a time in my life when I needed to have close connections and I needed to find the warmth and security that love wraps around you. She wasn't as independent as her older sister, probably because of the loss of her brother. She never strayed far from the family bonds and I felt blessed.

The business that I started in order to give my children the niceties of life became another bond for us, in my eyes alone, I guess. I wanted to share my dreams and success with her, but it was not to be. Looking back, I believe she saw my dreams as a prison, not something to share. While I thought I was giving her a foundation to grow on, she thought I was holding her down. For that I am truly and deeply sorry. I loved her so much and wanted to bond together with her. I guess I neglected to see what was staring back at me. I've gone beyond my means to give her and her family whatever they might need. I am proud of her success as a mother. Her "extremist mouth" which she came by naturally from her father often upsets me, but in the end, the overhaul picture makes her a good, loving mom. Her new success after returning to college has been a terrific adventure for her and she has proven that she is stronger than she
thought. Everyday I try to encourage her and take pride in her
successes. With her growth and success though, I believe some how and for some reason, a door has closed on us. The closeness we once shared is no longer there. I'm glad she is flourishing and becoming her own person, but I am saddened for not only my loss but her's as well.

When Mother's Day became about going through the motions without really caring, it was Mother's Day no more. I pray to God that she never feels that loss. Somewhere, somehow I loss that special feeling that was so precious to me. Now I see a cold, methodical hug and eagerness to escape. The detachment and aloofness is more than I can bear.

Does growing up and becoming your own person mean you leave the love for your mother behind? Oh God, I can't believe that was meant to be. I tried to give my love and everything I had to my children, but I must have done something horribly wrong. Love is meant to be shared, not taken without return. I never meant to do anything that would cost me so much. Maybe I was wearing rose colored glasses and lost my way!

Finally, but never the least, my last child, my son ... a gift from God. A gift I cherish beyond words. My baby boy is no baby any more. He's grown into a wonderful young man with a passionate, loving heart. On the surface, I see a caring, understanding, deeply loving person. We have shared his heartbreak and mine together. We've bonded together and strived to produce a written piece of work that shows the emotions of both mother and son. Today, I wonder if I am part of his dark side though. Am I responsible for his hidden feelings? Do I really know the love we share or do I see what I want to see?

He told me I was predictable when I made a comparison of someone else. Maybe I shouldn't feel hurt when someone who gives little seems to receive more, but I do. My goal has been to love and be loved by my children, but I find myself falling short of the most important goal in my life. I do not want to share with my children out of duty and expectations. If I have fallen short of their expectations, I am truly sorry. I never meant to let them down or be less than they expected.

I have a plaque that says the greatest gift of all is family. but it neglected to add the word "loving" family. Without love, every one is just another person in our lives.

I didn't write this to offend or pressure anyone. My tears are for my children as well as myself. Life is far difficult enough without adding to it. If I have failed. I am sorry. My apology can never be as large as the love I have for each and every one of them.

At this moment, I feel empty and alone. I don't write this for your pity because that would be worse than what I have now. I write this in search of answers and new beginnings. Losing my livelihood, something I worked so hard for, was devastating, but losing the love of my children is a bottomless pit.

I guess I lost my rose colored glasses. Were my dreams only fairytales? What can I reap from the seeds I sowed?

Let me wipe my tears away, pick up my pen, and try to write again, turning a life time of emotions into a story or two. With faith and friends, I shall begin again and let my spirit soar.



             May I send a Happy Mother's Day wish to every mother.

Author Notes

Thank you katbird for the artwork. I hope that other mothers can understand the thought that was behind this writing. Happy Mothers Day to all.

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