Life's Lessons

I don’t remember when it happened, that we as family all came closer. There were many years between my siblings and I. There were many years before I knew the closeness existed. Yet, somewhere along the way it did occur. Perhaps it came about when we had been the furthest from each other. We had all separated in our younger days, all gone our own ways. Physically as well as emotionally. My sister married and moved away, and I missed her so. My brother moved on in his life, and I was a lost soul. It’s not strange for me to look in books in search of my own process of life’s natural passages and it’s meaning, only to find my life’s description not there. I didn’t seem to follow the natural way of life’s traveled roads, remaining on the common path of many. I was out of the ordinary. That was not considered as a good thing back then but today; it has made me whom I am.

At times, it is with a sense of regret that the importance of family does not seem to come until later in life. It brings a sense of urgency along with it when it does come later in life. So much more time is wanted to show one’s love felt and to have the joy of feeling it in oneself. I have learned my sister is my very best friend. I have learned that we are truly related by our commonness and our bonds felt. I have learned that we are more alike in many ways, then ever realized before. At times, we find ourselves surprised by this. It tends to bring on laughter but it also tends to bring on even greater closeness and the realization that it has. It is this realization that I can only describe as truly beautiful and with that, I wish I had known of it forever. And with that, I know I forever will.

There is an unconditional type of love that existed in my family and it remains as such. We all had our times of troubles and successes; of pride and of shame; of tears and confusions; happiness and contentment’s. Probably, as it is with all families. Yet, each seemed to bring us closer together. There is never a time in my life that I can remember ever one turning their back. We were family. No matter what the world brought to each one of us, we knew we always had a place which we belonged. No matter what choices we may have made at times, we knew we were never alone. And, in good times, we celebrated together and shared in the joy. And in pain, we held each other closely.

My father was a good man. A quiet type, more a loner. He loved his family and he loved having a family, which is something he did not have when he, himself, was a boy. He loved my mother. He was a hard worker and worked a lifetime. He was a man, a husband, a father and he provided as such. He was content in his silent, quiet ways. He was not one to easily show his feelings, but I knew he loved me. Even in his quietness, I knew his ways of expressing his love. I felt it from him. I didn’t need words. Oh, there were times his sense of humor came out. He could be very witty, and remembered joke after joke. My father was very protective of me. That too, I felt and knew. It clearly was part of his love. Often, as a child, I’d sit on his lap and so many times he would say to me “You’re the one, you’re the one”. I always took that as meaning “special”. I have only fond memories of my father. So many times, I think to myself; I wish he knew me now. I wish he had lived to know my children. He would of loved them, I know. I lost my father 31 years ago, when I was 22 years old. I see his face; I hear his voice; I know his laughter, like it was yesterday. Still, it seems a lifetime away.

Perhaps, there should be no regret that I have found the importance of family years later, or the realizations of close bonds and common traits, as I have found with my sister. Maybe it is through our losses that we learn of what truly matters. Perhaps it is gratefulness that I feel in my realizations of the closeness that does exists. Some may never know of it, sadly.

Beauty In Seasons

Beauty In Season

Beauty in Season
I closed my eyes
And you were gone
Blossoms like fireworks,
Their brilliance bursting…
Blue skies and star filled nights
Yet what I found…You’ve not gone,
Your beauty is in my sight.
~Opal~

Morning Star

First Star

Morning Star, you wake me.
My eyes hold your beauty, my mind fills
keeping your memory..
Long after you fade
Beneath the fresh fallen snow.

Morning Star rising,
Creating rainbows of color,
Surround me.
Life,
in every season.
Meaning. Reason.

~Opal~

In Days Gone By

Looking back, as a child, my home was a large house on a cobble stone terrace in the city. It was near the ocean and there were many days of smelling the salt in the air, and hearing it's crashing waves from our open windows. There were places to play like the little storage area under the stairs or in back of my bedroom closet where I found, a little mouse hole. Some days, I'd crawl into my closet, to take another peek. I never did see any movement. The fire place in the dining room was well used. It's mantle of carved wood, almost reddish in color, would always hold special items such as a Christmas village. On Sunday mornings, my father would sit at the table, near the crackling fire, reading the Sunday news, drinking his coffee. The record player would play album after album. A Christmas tree, top heavy with more tinsel then pine needles, would stand in it's place by the bay window, and Santa always was generous. Presents seemed to flow from under the tree to near the middle of the room. There were many fine memories shared of this home. My room was shared with my sister. She was 11 years older than I and we were not close back then. She was dating and I was still playing with dolls. We dared not to place any of our items upon each other's bed, as I learned. Upon turning on the light to enter my room one night, I about fainted to find someone staring right at me, eye to eye and their eyes even lit up. My walking doll, which was left on my sister's bed, was stood in the barrel just inside the bedroom door. We laugh of this today. I loved to play in my brother's room. My father had build his desk and closet, with all the shelves to store things in. It was spray painted with bumpy type paint, a greenish color. He had bunk beds and we'd have the best wrestling matches. Was in those matches, I would learn the "scissor's hold" and I'd scream like crazy! I'd sleep on the top bunk, many nights. I remember a small, stained glass window just above this top bunk, which opened by a small latch. I'd always open it, and stare out into the night sky, looking at the stars, the moon, and I'd say my prayers which consisted mostly of my pleading to be kept safe through the night and that the boogie man did not get me. The room could be scarey from the top bunk. In the basement, my father had a work shop. The sound of his table saw would be heard zipping through wood often. The basement walls were of large rocks, its floor dirt and large puddles would form from heavy rains or melting snow. I loved to play down there; riding my bike through the puddles. My father built my playhouse there, which he assembled outside in the small yard later. A little house that was enjoyed for years. We loved to watch the fierce waves during a storm, smashing against the sea wall before breaking open. Some forcefully crashing onto the street, while part would roll back to meet yet another. Storms seemed more fierce back then. Snow storms were true storms, the kind that closed schools for days and sledding and tunnels made of snow would last til near the end of spring. Winters don't seem as cruel or as kind, anymore. Snow storms don't seem to leave as much to play in. The cobblestone street had been paved when my sister, brother and I went back to see this house again, years later. Remembering the days gone by and trying to see it all again, through the eyes of a child. Yet now, it all seemed smaller. As the snow storms seem less than what they were. Things change; our perceptions and dreams. The days that have gone by, never fully do. They live on in our minds and our hearts. They live on in our words to other's and they are a part of who we are.