As Corrie's fourth angel anniversary approaches this month, I share pictures from the end of April to today. I decided to let Corrie's gardens and flowers speak for themselves.
Category: Child loss
A Poem for Grieving Parents: After the Ink Fades
Parents, like me, know all about learning opportunities. We experience them each second, minute, hour, day, night, month and year. Oh, my dear, we know the lessons well. We never ask for them. We never request to join a school of thought, nor wish this club’s type of exclusivity on any other. We experience our lessons in nature when the birds chirp, yet hear no shriek of excitement, or “Mom, how you doing?” We have learning opportunities we never sought, and knowledge we never wished to gain.
In the Middle of Some Road
Mask 1 hides the bereaved mother screaming inside. She asks, “Why am I still alive?” but I tuck her down deep, even put her to sleep, so she will not speak all that is one her mind. "Shhh … little momma, don’t you cry" although your daughter is not alive.
A Picasso Shade of Blue
Born with a different kind of mind– and not the etch-a-sketch kind with the straight edges and directions to flow–is like sitting on the steps of the shallow end without a clue of how to swim or where to go.
Dear Corrie, You Won the Last Argument: I Garden
I think Corrie would feel proud. She might not say it.
Escape from Hitchcock
There are days when you long for the waves to rush over your feet, and you discover the kind of days made for digging in garden dirt as sweat pours down your face, and you believe you recognize the signs of happiness again after you've known darkness of the darkest kind.
In the Bright Lights
I cut back the rose bush, and dug up a plant I learned was invasive in the Butterfly Garden. I had no issue performing on a stage in middle and high school. Unaware of the neurological diagnosis suggested when I was four and five-years-old, I lacked a shy filter, just as I did a social… Continue reading In the Bright Lights
Pictures Tell a Thousand Stories
It drove my second grade teacher Mrs. Rewis crazy if a student said, "a hundred" or "a thousand" because these weren't precise numbers. A student could say, "one hundred," and this is accurate. But some stories don't possess an exact number ...
Where Will You Dance: A Holiday Poem for Corrie
It's a misconception that I never dance nor sing because I sang to you again on Christmas Eve as you would ask of me.
For Corrie’s Ninth Birthday
Each year, we honor Corrie’s birthday in a small celebration with friends.
Corrie's Season 