Finding you

I dream of finding you,

Lost to the riptide of time,

And circumstance.

My dear one, my son,

Who brightened everyday with your smile,

Your laugh,

Our shared tears.

It is no wonder I cannot sleep,

Still hear the relentless pulse of the monitor,

Still on guard,

Always on guard,

For what could go wrong,

For the call to 911,

The interventions,

The trauma to your fragile body,

In order to save your life,

Held by the most slender thread,

Of love and vigilance.

I could never measure up to the task,

Yet you loved me anyway.

By some miracle, some grace,

Our lives entwined to make something more,

More than I could have ever imagined,

More than a human life could hope for,

More than I can ever repay.

More than we can bear

What is more than we can bear?

For we have no choice but to go on.

Trauma, violence, loss.

Holocaust, genocide;

and yet we must live.

With horrible truths,

More horrible than we should experience.

Each loss is still a loss.

Each heartbreak, still the raw and tender

ground of being.

I don’t know, don’t understand,

But those who transcend it,

Who find some meaning or truth,

Are better than I, who still dreams

Of my lost one returning to me.

Of the palpable joy of his scent, his physical presence.

What evolutionary advantage could this possibly confer,

To live with absence,

With knowing our frailty and our strength,

The incessant beat of a heart,

That cannot stop loving,

Cannot divorce the feeling of a life moving within,

With the reality that it is no more.

Darling daughter

I’ve thought and thought,

Trying to find words for the ineffable.

I don’t hold with deities

And yet, I pause, when thoughts of you

Come to my mind,

Because goddess, you are.

Simply and without pretension.

Living things,

Spring forth at your glance.

Knights and kings would throw themselves at your feet.

Just for being, for breathing,

Dearest one. Heart of my heart.

My Annie.

A moment in time

What if caring for you is the best I’ve ever Done?

What if holding your hand, standing nearby while they inserted invasive but critical lines, is the best of me?

Then really, what is left of life.

Your siblings can access resources you could not. They may founder but don’t have to fall.

I miss you. Of course I miss your love most but I miss your anger, your frustration, your struggles, because I could make it better.

Now I don’t know how to make anything better. It’s all so complicated. Not like it was for me and you.

If only you could come back to me. Perhaps I wouldn’t feel like I failed the only test that really mattered in my life.

Keeping you alive.

Do you know her?

Do you know her?

If not, you’ve missed out.

She is light and grace,

Devoted to beings who can’t speak.

But she comes to me,

After all the days and nights I left her.

Generous and kind,

The woman depended on,

To hold the frightened dog or cat.

And she holds her mother as well.

Deserved or not.

Her empathy is all encompassing.

How did someone like me

Bring forth into the world

A being as perfect as she is?

Expectations

Did I really expect the world to stop turning?

To stop and pause for one life in the wake of hundreds of thousands?

No. But just as all those families have, we will stop.

We will pause and remember a life cut short,

That could have been so much more.

We are all grieving. Everyone of us.

Reckoning with what is a chance. A chance to be more.

To understand more, to have more compassion,

To live in a way that honors our loved and lost,

That honors the best of who we are as human beings on this fragile planet.

May all who are grieving and suffering be blessed.

May we all find our true path home.

What is

What is, is.

A hawk screeches,

A crow caws,

Dead leaves rustle,

In a warm wind.

My tears flow,

And my dog still wants his treat,

As my daughter tends her rabbits.

And my older son sleeps above me.

Minutes tick by,

Regardless of my feelings.

Resisting is futile,

though every cell in my body

Wants to fight it.

What is, is.

Another moment comes,

Then goes,

A mystery.

A poem to share by Khalil Gibran

On Beauty

BY KAHLIL GIBRAN

And a poet said, Speak to us of Beauty.
And he answered:
Where shall you seek beauty, and how
shall you find her unless she herself be your
way and your guide?
And how shall you speak of her except
she be the weaver of your speech?

The aggrieved and the injured say,
“Beauty is kind and gentle.
Like a young mother half-shy of her
own glory she walks among us.”
And the passionate say, “Nay, beauty is
a thing of might and dread.
Like the tempest she shakes the earth
beneath us and the sky above us.”

The tired and the weary say, “Beauty is
of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit.
Her voice yields to our silences like a faint
light that quivers in fear of the shadow.”
But the restless say, “We have heard her
shouting among the mountains,
And with her cries came the sound of
hoofs, and the beating of wings and
the roaring of lions.”

At night the watchmen of the city say,
“Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the
east.”
And at noontide the toilers and the way-
farers say, “We have seen her leaning over
the earth from the windows of the sunset.”

In winter say the snow-bound, “She shall
come with the spring leaping upon the hills.”
And in the summer heat the reapers say,
“We have seen her dancing with the autumn
leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her
hair.”
All these things have you said of beauty,
Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of
needs unsatisfied,
And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.
It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty
hand stretched forth,
But rather a heart enflamed and a soul en-
chanted.
It is not the image you would see nor the
song you would hear,
But rather an image you see though you
close your eyes and a song you hear though
you shut your ears.
It is not the sap within the furrowed bark,
nor a wing attached to a claw,
But rather a garden for ever in bloom and
a flock of angels for ever in flight.

People of Orphalese, beauty is life when
life unveils her holy face.
But you are life and you are the veil.
Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mir-
ror.
But you are eternity and you are the mir-
ror.

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