Often, from our darkest spaces, and our most vulnerable moments comes a light we can choose to cast on a small section of the world.
Tag: Grief
My Daughter’s Hands
One isn't weak because they break from the storm set to take the love you won’t forsake. Harsh words reflect shadows we cannot shake.
Always
I remember sitting at the breakfast table across from her laundry machine, and I'd watch the sunrise hit the lake as the ducks came near the wooden swing. You'd have to get up early enough because the ducks were gone by mid to late morning.
Growing in Grief Through Gardens
Growing up, I laughed at the thought of working in any garden. I believed that I possessed a brown thumb. Evening in Corrie's Butterfly Garden, also known as the Main Garden. Yet, the earliest lesson I remember from my teacher happened in second grade. Ironically, that was year I was officially diagnosed with attention deficit… Continue reading Growing in Grief Through Gardens
Gold in the Sunrise
When the first cherry blossoms, I feel her kiss my check.
LEGO: A Love Story, Part I
Throughout these two-and-half years (three years this May) after Corrie earned her wings, and during which John battled stage 3 colon cancer, we've had many stories from Corrie's garden, to Hayes' growth, in education and with us. Another part involves LEGO.
A Journey Long after the Casseroles are Gone
Never walk alone. I'll be here long after the casseroles are gone.
Ways to Find Light in Grief
Today, I write with a story from darkness to light, being defined to re-defining, and uncertain fear to enlightenment. I acknowledge that I'm not always strong through my journey with grief; that the laughter and comedy, which is my usual medicine, aren't always a cure. I hope with anyone's journey through grief you know that… Continue reading Ways to Find Light in Grief
In Every Gold, Bright Orange, and Russet Leaf: a Reflection of Autumn in Corrie’s Poems
I felt Corrie in every gold, bright orange, and russet leaf. Six minus one is five, and at sixteen, we seldom realize destinies are nothing more than beautiful orange and yellow leaves cleaving to branches in late October before they fall in a river bank. Sweet sixteen, like fairy tales with happy endings, are inventions of commercials and ads to buy disco balls and dresses.
A Poem: Angels Not for Our Keeping
i used to wonder why, but as the gold spreads through the leaves of the dogwood tree your father and my father and a farmer down the road rescued after the tornado, i gave up questioning why ... at least as often as I once cursed the sky for no other reason than i had… Continue reading A Poem: Angels Not for Our Keeping
Corrie's Season 