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Showing posts from March, 2014

For what it's worth

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Ella is an amazingly creative child.  She can entertain herself for hours with the gifts that her mind has given her.  She puts thoughts (and clothes) together that are outside of the box, and she loves the beauty that surrounds her life.  She finds great joy in the petals of a flower, and because of this she gifts them to others.  A few months ago she earned two dollars that she was allowed to spend on whatever she wanted.  She bypassed the candy aisle at the grocery store and headed straight for the floral department.  She chose a delicate white rose with light pink edges.  The rose graced her room until it was good and dead.  The petals dry and crunchy had fallen off and there was a mysterious gray fuzz growing in the water.  She was completely sad when it disappeared from her room while she was at school.

Every season finds my kitchen adorned with various groupings of nature that are brought indoors by my sweet little girl.  I find stray acorns, odd pine cones, loose branches wit…

My daughter lovely

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Did you know I had never desired to birth a girl child?

It was after the first one slept silent in that secret place that I knew it didn't matter.  When the heart aches loss and arms hang empty there's only desperate desire to hold onto the hand of any waking child.


You came into my world with a quiet cry, wet and vernix covered.  I had only just breathed your name before you were placed on my chest and rubbed right pink.  You nuzzled your damp head right into me with your mouth stretched wide like a hungry little bird opening its beak for the worm.

I wrapped you tight and cradled you whole in thankful arms.  There was barely enough room for all the wonder you birthed in me.  I wanted to keep you there, close to that heart that pounded out your life song.




Under blankets of stars I sang into you rhythms of being all my sunshine, and in time I saw the light that you were created to shine.  That's when a mama begins to wonder how her little girl manages to swallow the sun in …

Remembering red

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She would have been in her nineties yesterday, if she had still been living although I don't think she had any plans to meet that decade.  She talked about dying like she looked forward to it, even without faith to lean on.  In the last year of her life, I could tell she was waiting.  Her health wasn't the best and her energy was dwindling.  It was hard for me to see.

As long as I can remember, her hair was an unnatural red, a trademark she styled from her youth.  On one visit, I noticed that it had been too many months since she had covered up the thin, white wisps beneath.  It hung straight down in its confusing hues rather than pinned up neatly in her french twist.  I didn't like it.  It seemed her head declared the white flag of surrender.  She was done with living, but I wasn't finished with her, so we went to the salon.

I met her when I was ten.  She visited my home on Harbury Drive after my mom was recovering from a broken leg.  She was as wide as she was tall, …

Delivering miracles

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I had worked Monday night then spent the unusually warm Tuesday evening sitting outside in the sun.  Isaiah (6), Thia (4), and Ella (2) drew pictures on my legs with washable markers as I snoozed in the happy March sun, anticipating what the rest of the week would look like.
It was Wednesday morning, 6 a.m. when I managed to heave my well rested body out of bed.  My shirt was stretched tight over my swollen belly.  This was our last day as a family of five, and I wanted to get a jump on the last minute cleaning before I went into surgery the following day.

As I picked up stray clothes and toys I began to feel twinges of pain, subtle but growing.  Tim hadn't left for work yet, and I casually informed him that I was having contractions.  This was baby number four, which would normally make me an expert in identifying signs of the labor process, but that was not what life had given me despite all of my wishing.
My previous birthing experiences added up to a breech diagnosis (thank y…

When you're really hungry for more than pound cake

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I'm terrible at fasting.  It's the sweets that break me.  The last one that ruined me was during Lent over three years ago.  It came in the form of a thick and buttery almond pound cake.  It permeated the room with its delicious aroma.  I could see the edges of it begging to be torn away, the place where the crunchy meets the gooey.  I liked how it was a little underdone.

I was standing in my mother's kitchen as the weak winter sun reached lazy through the windows.  Specks of matter could be seen floating through the stillness, never settling.  I began to question my reasons for fasting, and I realized how unsettled I was in my wavering determination to not partake of culinary bliss.

My fingers delicately picked at the crispy edge, and brought the temptation closer to my lips.  Now broken, I ate it.  It was delicious.  It satisfied. It met my desire to know how it would taste and fill the inside of me.  I hungered for it, and it filled me.


Food can do that for you.  It ca…

Do you look at me from heaven?

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Do you look at me from heaven, and search my upturned face? Do you wonder if I miss you still, or if someone could take your place?
I know I think of you at times I imagine who you are I want to hold you close to me, but I cannot reach that far.
I know heaven is the perfect place, and I'm sure you wouldn't trade But in a dream you could visit me so your memory won't fade.
I knew you for a little while  before you had to leave And I will know you once again this I must believe.
I know you're not alone or sad the way I feel at times. Do you even watch me now as I sit and write you rhymes?