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Dear Author,

I miss fudge brownies with vanilla ice cream and warm chocolate sauce.

brownie

I suppose if I’d never had that decadent dessert I wouldn’t know what I’d missed. I had a damn good version of that slice of heaven.



Say I read another’s book. Oh how I learn, laugh, experience journeys I’ve only dreamed of. How better to grow than listen. To experience that sometimes awkward dance of dating and uncover commonality. Exploration begins. New chapters form.

Soon two stories intertwine.

book

I want to share my life with someone. Not because I’m weak or unable to do life on my own.

I’m full. Bursting in fact.

There are chapters left to write. Imagining possibilities is a gift and I want to share that journey, pen words unique to us.

I am grateful God has tossed you in my path.

Let’s write an epic story!

Or, if you prefer your metaphoric language…….

guitar

LATEST POSTS

Blessed Trees

If I showed you my garden could you find the spot where a smiling tree had once shaded the land?

Now, not even a stub remains. Only soil and a hole where life once grew old and wise. Still, I remember the tree.

A new tree grows nearby. A lean tree. The leaves are different, curled like a wave. When I sit in its shade I smell the ocean. And I feel peace.

I am thankful for the trees. For the blessings before, ever present now, and the blessings to come.

I’m watering the new tree. When I look up a canopy of branches spread far and wide. Leaves shimmer in the sunlight. In the breeze the curly leaves sing.  Some fall to the soil, filling the hole.

And that makes me happy.

LATEST POSTS

Seeds of Possibility

seedlingMost days I walk.

I’ve noticed more birds, lizards, butterflies, and thriving plants. Maybe they’ve always been there.

Or maybe our new world has widened my view with less thoughts to sift through. Or just the opposite: too much time to contemplate this or that.

Enter a seedling. That’s me. Growing…..experiencing….learning. 

Waiting is hard, especially for the new parts yet to come. I know my roots are strong. The soil has been turned. Remnants of the old me remain. You could say I’m variegated. A unique blend of then and now.

The future is before me.

Most of us want to see what lies ahead. The contemplative me desires that. But I like surprises, anticipation. My mind reels with possibilities. I am a seedling, a dreamer, in love with happy endings, underdogs winning. Pouty babies and goofy dogs. A good book, chocolate anything and wine. Cozy couches and candles.

I believe in tomorrow.

 

Every morning has a unique story. There are always some seeds of possibilities waiting to sprout.”                                                                                               – Amit Ray
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The Awakening

daffodil

Today I’m a daffodil.

A flower of new beginnings.

A flower of hope.

Once forgotten under ancient Roman rule, the English later plucked the stems amongst the weeds and gave them a home in the garden.

Today I’m in the garden. No longer surrounded by weeds. Contentment has taken root. I’m alive again, planted in firm soil. The world seems bright and I bend towards the source of the warmth.

I’m touching the sky, or so it seems.  All is quiet. Peaceful.  I claim the moment as mine.

I’ll remember this day.  I’ll remember all that’s good.

I am a daffodil.

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Fragile Spirit

black and white butterfly on yellow flower

In the midst of our strength, a counterbalance exists. At least in me. Today my fragile spirit is present. Awareness of all that’s good and bad is heightened. Two days ago a friend succumbed to fatal injuries in a car crash. I learned of a suicide. And then today a dear friend’s daughter may have the virus.

I admit, I’m not superwoman. And the distance between my strength and weakness is shrinking. Today, I’m stuck in the middle, seeing both sides, fearful of veering right or left.

I’m off kilter.

My goal is always to find gray. Stay clear of black or white where absolutes exit. No closed in spaces today. Though I am claustrophobic, this is more metaphoric. Today, no thinking. Period.

Out my window, I see blue skies and puffy clouds. If only I could soar amongst them, slough off mleft human hand photoy fragile spirit and find strength somewhere in the sunshine.

If not, I’ll simply glide out over the ocean.

I always find peace there.

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IMPRINT (verb) synonyms: impress , embed, marc

imprintMarc remains inside me. I like to think of him as an imprint, never to be erased. The sum of us rests in a comfy spot on my heart. Sometimes I feel warmth. Sometimes I see pictures. At any time I can tap into our love. And I do.

Time will never change what nestles there. Nor will a person, or anything I do. I like to share him with others. Find what rests in their heart. I am better for it.

My hope is you’ve felt the warmth he brought and tucked it away in your heart. Our hearts are big. Expectant. Waiting to be filled with the warmth of others. Marc Draper, your warmth fills me today.

Five months ago today, Marc left this earth. Life has changed. He did not experience this pandemic, or the day to day blips that, at times, seem inconsequential. Still, I see him in the clouds, the sway of the palms outside. Most days, when I look up, I can now smile.

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The Chair

A warm breeze whispers against my face.     chair

I think of being at the ocean. Hope on the horizon, an expectant unknown beyond.

Today, peace finds me where Marc sat. Months ago, I perched on a stool in front of him, rubbing his legs, thick and stiff.

He was hopeful then. Or maybe I was too hopeful reading his face all wrong.  His quiet meant nothing or something.

A brave man, robed and scruffy.  He knew more than he would say.

I love him even more knowing that.

Brad_Britney_895Four months ago today Marc drifted beyond the horizon.

Writing about him, about us, soothes my soul. He encouraged me to write. Always positive. I write for him and to untangle the ball of grief at my feet.   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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My Person: A handful of lovely truths about Marc….continued

As I laid next to Marc in the hospital bed,  I traced the column of his neck, his chin. I curled my hand around his shoulder and lingered there. I leaned closer, breathed in. My Marc was still there. I wanted to remember everything about him and file it deep inside for retrieval at a moment’s notice.bookmark photo

His four brothers entered, two by two. Unexpected but a welcome site. They gathered around the bed, talked to Marc as the ballgame drew attention away from the reality of the situation. Someone joked about how people say family was gathered bedside at the exact moment their loved one took their last breath. What were the odds of that happening?

Marc was listening.

The timing between his breaths lengthened. Each brother touched a part of Marc. Ankle, foot, arm. It didn’t matter. We were all connected to the man we loved. Silence was broken by loving thoughts, muttered sounds, a sniffle. The nurse was called. She turned on the monitor above and behind me. No sound. I glanced at the continuous line rising with his intermittent heartbeat. Marc gasped and the nurse pumped in extra morphine.

“Go see Doris. It’s okay to sit at her table. You know the one in the townhouse. Talk about what’s in the paper. I’ll see you soon.”

I leaned in and whispered in his ear. Something I’ll keep private. Was that a tear in his eye?

Marc, a man who didn’t like the spotlight, who often deferred to others, who would rather listen than lead a meeting. Marc, my man, orchestrated his last moments, giving us the perfect gift;  to be part of the exact moment he was ushered from this world.

Moments after he passed, a swirl of something brilliant left his body. The force in which it corkscrewed skyward happened in a blink. I glanced back at the bed. My Marc was no longer there. Just a body. I don’t recall if I looked up or just saw behind my eyes a pleasing vision: Marc in his blue suit, a hand in his pocket, smiling as he chatted with another man.

Three months ago today Marc passed. I’m changing because I have no choice. My whole world is different, unfamiliar and scary at times. I remember him daily. I remember us. Marc made me a better person. And forever I will be grateful.

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My Person: a handful of lovely truths about Marc

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THE END

I had curled up beside him in the bed. His body still, his mouth gaping. An absence of anything fresh, anything home or cozy surrounded us there on the narrow hospital bed in the dim room with no windows.

A TV hung from the corner of room. I watched the World Series, recapped a play, as much as I could, and tried to make light of the situation. We were partners deeply entangled in love, clinging to hope that something miraculous would happen. But we both knew I would live on, leave this place. Time was cruel and yet yielding, allowing us more moments.

They say hearing is the last to go. He was listening. I was sure of it, so I rambled on about the game, laughed. Did he know he was dying? I cried silently.

Then he skipped a breath. I touched his arm. Gentler than the jabs I needled him with in the middle of the night when his nasally foghorn snores woke me. Finally he breathed. I breathed. I kept reminding him to breathe. At some point I realized I didn’t need to.

He was on hospice. No life saving devices. No sustenance.

What happened then was beautiful. No, his life was not spared but God stepped in an orchestrated the perfect end to my sweet Marco’s life.

….TO BE CONTINUED