Thursday, July 24, 2008

Closer to God

My mother's health has spiraled down so much this week

that Hospice is taking care of her now.

She does not have much more time in our world.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008


There are no words

to describe losing

a parent.

I am losing my mom to illness.

We have been closer and lived together for many more years than the average.

This is a very difficult time.

It's not like losing a grandparent

or an aunt.

An uncle.

It is not comparable.

Only those who have lost a parent

or both parents can truly


the place I am in right now.

Thank you for

reaching out to me.

For checking on me.

For being real.

For being my friend.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

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This was our vacation two years ago with my then 79-year-old mother.

Only two summers ago.

Now she is laying in a hospital bed with terminal cancer.

I am so angry that she got this dreaded disease.

I know all the buzz words.

She is supposed to "come to terms with her cancer."

The family is supposed to "come to terms with her cancer."

I hate cancer.

I cannot come to terms with something I hate.

I have seen too many good people lost to this dreaded disease.

Now my mother is suffering

and there is nothing I can do.

Oh I am there for her,

comforting her and praying for her


to me




Friday, July 04, 2008

My country tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died!
Land of the Pilgrim's pride!
From every mountain side,
Let freedom ring!

2. My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free,
Thy name I love.
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture fills
Like that above.

3. Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees
Sweet freedom's song.
Let mortal tongues awake;
Let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence break,
The sound prolong.

4. Our father's God to, Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright
With freedom's holy light;
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King!

--Samuel Francis Smith, c1832

Tuesday, July 01, 2008


This happened a couple of weeks ago

but I have just now brought myself to a place

where I can relive it without

a strange feeling creeping up my spine:

We were at our clubhouse pool

It was a crowded weekend there

I was not swimming, but

the B-girl was in .

I was relaxing,

enjoying the sun

drinking lemonade mixed

with the perfect blend of sweet and sour.

The sky was blue.

The clouds were cumulus.

The children were laughing.

I was reading a book

and talking to the older brother

of the girl swimming with B-girl.

It was a fine day,

casual and fun.

I leaned back,

and closed my eyes

thinking of how good I had it at that very moment

when I heard my daughter's voice

yelling from the other

side of the pool...

"Hey Mom Brianna asked me

how old you are.

I told her you are 45

but she doesn't believe me!

Tell her.

Tell her how old you are!"

For one split second

it crossed my mind that

if I did not open my eyes

the whole thing might go away,

but I could hear the laughter of my neighbors

loud and clear

so I raised up and smiled.

"39 Brianna, I am 39!"

Then I heard

"Mom you are lying. That is not very nice. You told me not to lie."

More laughter.

"I am 39. I am...just like we discussed," I said grinning.

Again with the laughter and then came my plea,

"B-girl and Brianna why don't you two just forgettaboutit?"

They went on about their pool play but I could hear my little princess

saying to Brianna

"She really is 45."

And to make it worse,

the kindly brother next to me

attempts to help by


"You don't look 45"

So I said

"Thank you dearie"

and closed my eyes

while the words

"forty freakin' five" seemed to

echo off the patio walls for what seemed like an eternity

and then fade into oblivion amongst the splashing of youth.

Since then, however,

I sometimes wake up at night

in a pre-menopausal cold sweat

hearing my eight year old's voice

yelling across the pool.

I guess it could have been worse.


Let me tell you,

as God is my witness

I will have this child