Saturday, March 31, 2007
My Father.......
What do I know of my Father? Besides that he was a good Man, loving husband, and wonderful father, and provider, just what else do I know? My mother saved many papers. Important papers, which she kept “safely” in a shoe box wrapped with a bungee cord around it, on a shelf in the closet.
My Father was born in Fall River, Mass., on March 5, 1913. His father’s name was John, 33, of Fall River and mother’s name was Carrie M, 31, .of Portsmouth, R.I. John, was a carpenter. My father only completed school through the sixth grade. It was then which his father died and he had to go to work. He had three brothers and one sister. His older sister brought him up. He was the youngest in the family.
My Father enlisted into the Navy on March 12, 1931 for three years. He was in the Headquarters Company of the 26th Division. He was Honorable Discharged by expiration term of service on the 11th day of March 1934. It appears that he reenlisted on March 2, 1936 for another 3 years, in which he was honorably discharged on May 22, 1939
He went into active duty on 9/10/41 to Sept. 43 for foreign and/or sea service world war II.. He served in the Navy and the Seabees. He was married at the time and living in Everett Mass. Working at the G.E. Co. in Everett. He received the World War II Victory Medal; the Asiatic-Pacific Medal and the American Theater medal. He was a sheet metal worker. He was described when enrolled as: 23 years of age and by occupation as a truck driver. His record was of "excellence". Having brown hair, brown eyes, light complexion and was five feet eight and one fourth inches in height.
My mother graduated from High school in 1937. My father and mother met in a small town in New Hampshire. They were in a shop called candy land and had a large soda fountain with tables and booths. An old love letter from my father to my mother started out “Dear…..You might not remember me, but we met in candy land. My parents married on March 4th, 1939. At that time, both were living in Somerville, Mass.
My sister was born on October 13, 1942 in Everett Mass. My brother was born December 4, 1946, also in Everett and I was born October 9, 1953, in Quincy, Mass.
My Father was born in Fall River, Mass., on March 5, 1913. His father’s name was John, 33, of Fall River and mother’s name was Carrie M, 31, .of Portsmouth, R.I. John, was a carpenter. My father only completed school through the sixth grade. It was then which his father died and he had to go to work. He had three brothers and one sister. His older sister brought him up. He was the youngest in the family.
My Father enlisted into the Navy on March 12, 1931 for three years. He was in the Headquarters Company of the 26th Division. He was Honorable Discharged by expiration term of service on the 11th day of March 1934. It appears that he reenlisted on March 2, 1936 for another 3 years, in which he was honorably discharged on May 22, 1939
He went into active duty on 9/10/41 to Sept. 43 for foreign and/or sea service world war II.. He served in the Navy and the Seabees. He was married at the time and living in Everett Mass. Working at the G.E. Co. in Everett. He received the World War II Victory Medal; the Asiatic-Pacific Medal and the American Theater medal. He was a sheet metal worker. He was described when enrolled as: 23 years of age and by occupation as a truck driver. His record was of "excellence". Having brown hair, brown eyes, light complexion and was five feet eight and one fourth inches in height.
My mother graduated from High school in 1937. My father and mother met in a small town in New Hampshire. They were in a shop called candy land and had a large soda fountain with tables and booths. An old love letter from my father to my mother started out “Dear…..You might not remember me, but we met in candy land. My parents married on March 4th, 1939. At that time, both were living in Somerville, Mass.
My sister was born on October 13, 1942 in Everett Mass. My brother was born December 4, 1946, also in Everett and I was born October 9, 1953, in Quincy, Mass.
My father passed away in January 1976. I was 22 years old at the time.
My father loved my mother. They had a good marriage. He was a good family man and provider. He was very protective of his family. He was dedicated to his family and his work, which he worked at the General Electric Company until he was near of age to retire.
My father loved animals, especially dogs. He loved children. He enjoyed hunting and fishing for awhile; he enjoyed travel. My parents had many good friends and they enjoyed good times. Often, there was a relative or friend they'd take in to live with us, to help them out. My parents enjoyed playing cards, having sing-a-longs, parties with sing along with Mitch Miller and his band (follow the bouncing ball), dancing (I remember standing on my father's shoes, as he would dance with me) and camping.
He enjoyed television and shows as Lawrence Welk, The Honeymooners, All in the Family, to name a few. He also enjoyed short wave radio and scanners. He loved telling jokes and remembered them all.
I remember also that my father took care of me often. He worked second shift. I remember coming home for lunch for my six years in elementary school, and my father would have my lunch ready for me (Frank-O-American spag. usually) and I'd sit in the living room with it on a tray in front of me, and watch "Big Brother Bob Emery" before I had to walk back to school for the afternoon. He would drive me, if it was raining.
I remember sitting on his lap often; I remember him reading the newspaper by the fire blazing in the dining room fireplace, having his coffee there on a Sunday morning with the records playing. I remember when I was little and at times would wake in the night afraid of some noise I thought I heard outside, and I would go and wake him and he'd always comfort me.
He taught me how to ride a bike. He had patience. And when I ran out of the house once, in one of my rebellious, teenage moods, he was running right behind me. We walked back home together.
Though my father was a quiet man, and did not show emotions often, I felt always very close to my father. He was a very handsome man and remained as such through the years. He had the nicest smile, the whitest teeth and silver, grey thick wavey hair. He was intelligent and I remember even as a child, he use to invent things. Had he only patterned these things, he would of been wealthy, for years later they had been once again "invented" and patterned. I remember him "inventing" before its day, the radio alarm clock and the flip tops rather than using a can opening and twist off caps long before they existed.
He had a hobby of building things. He had small area in the basement as his "work shop" and I remember hearing his table saw buzzing away on the weekends. He built my sister and brother a club house when they were young. He also built a play house for me, when I was young. How we all enjoyed these for many years. He loved fixing things and it seemed he could do most.
I remember the morning my father passed away that January. He had been ill with heart disease for a few years and had a few heart attacks. He was weak and had to be careful of his diet and life style. My parents had sold their home and moved to their summer home now permanently as there was less stress there, in the country. And I remember my mother sitting at the dining room table, playing solitaire until the wee hours of the morning, night after night, listening, in case he woke and needed her.
The night before my father passed away, He and my mother had gone to a relative's home for a New Year's type celebration. For the first time in a long time, I remember my father danced again, and sang again, and saw many relatives and friends he had not seen for a long time. He even toasted with a drink, all of this he had not done for a long time. he told jokes and laughed alot. He felt good, better than he had in a very long time. He truely enjoyed himself and was enjoyed by all.
That next morning he did not wake.
I alway felt that it was "planned" as this way. For after so long of suffering, my father had an opportunity once again to be around all his family and friends, in a good time. And for the first time in a very long time, my father had a great time.
And then it was over.
I cried and I cried but I never thought differently; that my father had that last night just as he did. Just as he was suppose to. For that, I was grateful.
So often through the years, I've thought of my father. I wished he knew me now. The changed me. I wished he had met my girls. He would of loved them. My son and his other grandchildren that did know him, called him "Pa". I wish he knew of my life. I wish he had been a part of it longer.
I think of him often.
Beautiful Breeze...
Such gardens, in the spring as the frost lifts,
Sunshine and warmth, fine scents adrift.
With shades of gold as the sun's own kiss,
Upon my smile as such memory is bliss.
When the winter comes, as darkness..
Your still that shine, as a havest moon,
A twinkling star, its light and warmth no less.
In memory of you as always your best.
Seasons change, such as life it will be,
In our times we live to blossom free..
A butterfly from its cocoon, or bud to rose.
Through our life, such are we to grow.
Love not ending as we pass on by,
Like the dafodils in spring multiply.
And in our hearts, our very soul,
Even in sunshine, you did not die.
Nor am I alone.
~Opal~
Thursday, March 29, 2007
I Believe
(Chorus)I raise my hands, bow my head
I'm finding more and more truth in the words written in red
They tell me that there's more to life than just what i can see.
I can't quote the book
The chapter or the verse
You can't tell me it all ends
In a slow ride in a hearse
You know I'm more and more convinced
The longer that i live
Yeah, this can't be,
No, this can't be
No, this can't be all there is
(Chorus)
When I raise my hands, bow my head
I'm finding more and more truth in the words written in red
They tell me that there's more to this than just what i can see
I believe
Oh, I
I believe
Green, Green Grass of Home
The old home town looks the same
As I step down from the train
And there to greet me are my mamma and my poppa
Down the road I look, and there runs Mary
Hair of gold, lips like cherries
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they'll all come to meet me
Arms a-reachin', smilin' sweetly
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
The old house is still standin
Though the paint is cracked and dry
And there's that old oak tree
That I used to play in
Down the lane I'll walk with my sweet Mary
Hair of gold and lips like cherries
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they'll all come to meet me
Arms a-reachin', smilin' sweetly
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Then I awake and look around me
At the four grey walls that surround me
And I realize that I was only dreaming
For there's a guard and a sad old padre
Arm in arm we'll walk at daybreak
And at last I'll touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they'll all come to meet me
Arms a-reachin', smilin' sweetly
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
As I step down from the train
And there to greet me are my mamma and my poppa
Down the road I look, and there runs Mary
Hair of gold, lips like cherries
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they'll all come to meet me
Arms a-reachin', smilin' sweetly
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
The old house is still standin
Though the paint is cracked and dry
And there's that old oak tree
That I used to play in
Down the lane I'll walk with my sweet Mary
Hair of gold and lips like cherries
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they'll all come to meet me
Arms a-reachin', smilin' sweetly
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Then I awake and look around me
At the four grey walls that surround me
And I realize that I was only dreaming
For there's a guard and a sad old padre
Arm in arm we'll walk at daybreak
And at last I'll touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they'll all come to meet me
Arms a-reachin', smilin' sweetly
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Sunday, March 25, 2007
This Past Year............March 25, 2006 to.....
March 25, 2007
It has been a year on this day, since my Mother passed away. I remember it as though it were just yesterday, yet so much has taken place in a year’s time. Getting through each hurdle; each holiday, birthday, celebration, without her made each another new experience. Even the news on television, or a change in the weather, or something new or different in the day made me think to pick up the phone and call her, out of habit, as I would have done.
At times it was difficult to have to remind myself she was gone and yet, to remember that she was, was much more difficult.
She was always on my mind. I sought ways to ease my loss, to spare my own grief. I wanted to think of her, remember her, without the pain it would bring to me. I found comfort in a garden made for her. I found comfort in writing. I found comfort in my family, friends and co-workers. In time, I found comfort in my work, of helping other families through their own losses and grief, though that took awhile for me to do again. Yet, I did find that in helping others, it would bring me out of myself, and I also healed more.
I have often looked back at her last week with us. Each day was more of a struggle for her and for all of us, as we remained by her side. As her days, we knew became less, we never left her alone. We played music in her room, her favorite songs and we’d comfort her with our touch and voice. She knew we were there beside her all the time and we were. That last week ,as it moved closer to this day of March 25, one year ago, was the most wearing time of my life. Never had my own emotions felt so raw and exposed and exhausted.. But I believe that because I had that week, and because we were all together in our emotional pain, and because we all accepted and supported each other for being right as we were, I truly feel that my grieving had begun before she was gone from us.
I often see her face, in the face of another. Or hear her voice from afar, but it is the voice of another. I found a cassette tape made not too long ago, of her singing with all of us, in one of our many good times. I carefully wrapped it up and put safely away. I found her hair brushes just last week, packed, its bristles still with her hair, and I quickly pulled some out only to rub it between my fingers, feeling its softness. I have received things in the mail all this past year, in her name. I’d stare for the longest time at the dates of her name or purchase, or check, from just before her illness, thinking how little we knew on that date, so near her time of passing. I have my private moments still of emotions that sometimes just seem to burst out of me. Often, while driving in my car and a song comes on that takes my mind to her, I just allow myself to cry, as I need to. I’ve caught myself thinking “I need to call Ma to see what she thinks of this news………or this storm report……..or to see how she is doing…If she needs something at the store….or or or….” And then, I remember again.
The loss of my Mother certainly has made me more sensitive towards others in their own pains of grief. I understand now in ways which I was incapable of, before experiencing such a loss in my own life. To give another comfort is truly heart felt from me now and not just another part of my job responsibility. My heart easily bleeds yet for the most part I am able to keep my own emotions controlled when necessary. I am healing and I have healed greatly. Not fully but I don’t think that is possible to believe I ever will, fully.
The loss of my Mother has made me appreciate and value family more, and memories, and to want to know of my past more than ever. I have been digging into pictures, and wanting to put them in order to preserve them all. I have a deeper gratitude for my family and for all of our memories. My brother and sister feel more like a part of myself. It is us three who are the ones that truly know where we’ve come from.
On this 1st year anniversary of my mother’s death, I have reflected and I have realized that the pain is not as great as it was at this time, a year ago. That there has been some acceptance, and there have been valuable lessons learned in such things as knowing what is really important. Knowing what really matters. There is some sadness in these lessons learned which is that I don’t believe anyone could fully know these lessons of such gratitude, in their heart, until they’ve also had such a great loss.
And even in all I’ve grieved and shared, I miss her terribly. And even in all I’ve learned, I’d trade it all for even a moment with her again.
It has been a year on this day, since my Mother passed away. I remember it as though it were just yesterday, yet so much has taken place in a year’s time. Getting through each hurdle; each holiday, birthday, celebration, without her made each another new experience. Even the news on television, or a change in the weather, or something new or different in the day made me think to pick up the phone and call her, out of habit, as I would have done.
At times it was difficult to have to remind myself she was gone and yet, to remember that she was, was much more difficult.
She was always on my mind. I sought ways to ease my loss, to spare my own grief. I wanted to think of her, remember her, without the pain it would bring to me. I found comfort in a garden made for her. I found comfort in writing. I found comfort in my family, friends and co-workers. In time, I found comfort in my work, of helping other families through their own losses and grief, though that took awhile for me to do again. Yet, I did find that in helping others, it would bring me out of myself, and I also healed more.
I have often looked back at her last week with us. Each day was more of a struggle for her and for all of us, as we remained by her side. As her days, we knew became less, we never left her alone. We played music in her room, her favorite songs and we’d comfort her with our touch and voice. She knew we were there beside her all the time and we were. That last week ,as it moved closer to this day of March 25, one year ago, was the most wearing time of my life. Never had my own emotions felt so raw and exposed and exhausted.. But I believe that because I had that week, and because we were all together in our emotional pain, and because we all accepted and supported each other for being right as we were, I truly feel that my grieving had begun before she was gone from us.
I often see her face, in the face of another. Or hear her voice from afar, but it is the voice of another. I found a cassette tape made not too long ago, of her singing with all of us, in one of our many good times. I carefully wrapped it up and put safely away. I found her hair brushes just last week, packed, its bristles still with her hair, and I quickly pulled some out only to rub it between my fingers, feeling its softness. I have received things in the mail all this past year, in her name. I’d stare for the longest time at the dates of her name or purchase, or check, from just before her illness, thinking how little we knew on that date, so near her time of passing. I have my private moments still of emotions that sometimes just seem to burst out of me. Often, while driving in my car and a song comes on that takes my mind to her, I just allow myself to cry, as I need to. I’ve caught myself thinking “I need to call Ma to see what she thinks of this news………or this storm report……..or to see how she is doing…If she needs something at the store….or or or….” And then, I remember again.
The loss of my Mother certainly has made me more sensitive towards others in their own pains of grief. I understand now in ways which I was incapable of, before experiencing such a loss in my own life. To give another comfort is truly heart felt from me now and not just another part of my job responsibility. My heart easily bleeds yet for the most part I am able to keep my own emotions controlled when necessary. I am healing and I have healed greatly. Not fully but I don’t think that is possible to believe I ever will, fully.
The loss of my Mother has made me appreciate and value family more, and memories, and to want to know of my past more than ever. I have been digging into pictures, and wanting to put them in order to preserve them all. I have a deeper gratitude for my family and for all of our memories. My brother and sister feel more like a part of myself. It is us three who are the ones that truly know where we’ve come from.
On this 1st year anniversary of my mother’s death, I have reflected and I have realized that the pain is not as great as it was at this time, a year ago. That there has been some acceptance, and there have been valuable lessons learned in such things as knowing what is really important. Knowing what really matters. There is some sadness in these lessons learned which is that I don’t believe anyone could fully know these lessons of such gratitude, in their heart, until they’ve also had such a great loss.
And even in all I’ve grieved and shared, I miss her terribly. And even in all I’ve learned, I’d trade it all for even a moment with her again.
Loss of Mother Poem.....
Now that I am gone,
Remember me with smiles and laughter.
And if you need to cry,
cry with your brother or sister
who walks in grief beside you.
And when you need me,
put your arms around anyone
and give to them what you need to give to me.
There are so many who need so much.
I want to leave you something.....
something much better than words or sounds.
Look for me in the people I've known
or helped in some special way.
Let me live in your heart
as well as in your mind.
You can love me most
by letting your love reach out to our loved ones,
by embracing them and living in their love.
Love does not die, people do.
So, when all that's left of me is love,
give me away as best you can.
"Myself", by Samantha, Great-Granddaughter of Doris May
Sad as I'll ever be.
This wasn't the way it was going to be.
I barely even knew you
and now you're gone.
What am I going to do now?
How am I gonna act?
It hit me like a bag of bricks
and now I'm holding all the weight.
I don't know if I can take it
anymore....
now your gone.
I don't know what to do
How am I suppose to react to you
Scared as I'll ever be
This wasn't the way it was suppose to be
Now I'm holding back the tears
and I'm smiling at something else
and I feel like screaming
and I feel like crying
for you.
How am I suppose to feel
How am I suppose to deal
Don't know what to do
and I barely even knew you
I just feel so sad
Even though I do
I don't seem to
Getting distracted in every way
Just say something happy for me now
Just save me in some way just for now.
I don't wanna know
I don't think I ever will
But if I do
I know that one day
I will
Be able to ask you
MYSELF
Saturday, March 24, 2007
My brother's favorite memory with Dad...
Date: 3/18/2007 9:23:26 PM
To: Opal
Re: Dad & I
We were at a carnival and there was a ride there (think it was called the "bullet"). It was like a ferris wheel in a way but had two things shaped like torpedos on it. You would sit in it like an airplane cockpit and the thing would rotate like a ferris wheel and rotate at the same time. One minute you would be going straight into space, the next--straight into the ground. Dad and I went on it--when it started moving we both looked at each other and started laughing uncontrollably--never saw dad laugh so hard--tears running down our cheeks--I'll never forget that.
To: Opal
Re: Dad & I
We were at a carnival and there was a ride there (think it was called the "bullet"). It was like a ferris wheel in a way but had two things shaped like torpedos on it. You would sit in it like an airplane cockpit and the thing would rotate like a ferris wheel and rotate at the same time. One minute you would be going straight into space, the next--straight into the ground. Dad and I went on it--when it started moving we both looked at each other and started laughing uncontrollably--never saw dad laugh so hard--tears running down our cheeks--I'll never forget that.
So many memories appearing, discussing, enjoying...
Date: 3/10/2007 10:41:20 AM
To: Opal
Subject: Re: goodnightI was just laughing to myself. Bill, when little, had those yellow pj's with the feet in them, Ma bought him this florescent orange bow tie, it would almost glow in the dark, it had a black elastic strap to hold it around his neck, well, he loved that bow tie so much, he would wear it every morning with his pj's on!! It was so funny; I remember ma&dad & me laughing so hard at it. Barb
Date: 3/10/2007 11:22:20 AM
To: Opal
Subject: Re: morningI am amazed, between all this e-mailing, you managed to get dressed, how do you do it?? LOL!!! I remember in Weymouth, I ran outside to get my bathing suit off the line, and Bill, thinking he was going to be a hero, told on me, I guess he thought he was, and said to Ma; “Barby went outside with her BARE FEET ON!!” He must have thought that was going to get me in trouble!!! Ma and I just laughed
Date: 3/10/2007 6:59:45 PM
To: Opal
Subject: Re: was
One of the things I remember, I had another cat, It was angora, long fur, I loved it so much, I named it Beautiful, can you imagine me calling it, “here Beautiful”, anyway, it caught something and Dad called the MANGE. It got big patches of balding all over its body, big BALD spots, Dad used to laugh because I named it beautiful!!! Reminds me of YOUR cat named RIBBON BALL!!! LOL
To: Opal
Subject: Re: goodnightI was just laughing to myself. Bill, when little, had those yellow pj's with the feet in them, Ma bought him this florescent orange bow tie, it would almost glow in the dark, it had a black elastic strap to hold it around his neck, well, he loved that bow tie so much, he would wear it every morning with his pj's on!! It was so funny; I remember ma&dad & me laughing so hard at it. Barb
Date: 3/10/2007 11:22:20 AM
To: Opal
Subject: Re: morningI am amazed, between all this e-mailing, you managed to get dressed, how do you do it?? LOL!!! I remember in Weymouth, I ran outside to get my bathing suit off the line, and Bill, thinking he was going to be a hero, told on me, I guess he thought he was, and said to Ma; “Barby went outside with her BARE FEET ON!!” He must have thought that was going to get me in trouble!!! Ma and I just laughed
Date: 3/10/2007 6:59:45 PM
To: Opal
Subject: Re: was
One of the things I remember, I had another cat, It was angora, long fur, I loved it so much, I named it Beautiful, can you imagine me calling it, “here Beautiful”, anyway, it caught something and Dad called the MANGE. It got big patches of balding all over its body, big BALD spots, Dad used to laugh because I named it beautiful!!! Reminds me of YOUR cat named RIBBON BALL!!! LOL
Looking back at care free days...
As a family, in my younger days, we traveled and vacationed throughout New England and down the east coast. For many years, my parents loved camping, which did not consist of the 5th wheeler luxury trailers of today. With their modern conveniences of gas stoves, air conditioners, and cable television; bathrooms equipped with showers. No, we went camping as in tenting.
Other family members joined in these fun filled summer vacations. We’d all reserve our camping sites next to each other at different camp grounds. Such fun we’d have, especially being from the city, to sit around a camp fire and roast marshmellows on a stick in the fire at night, blowing out their flames before they resembled charcoal. How yummy they were no matter how well done, between two pieces of chocolate.
My father enjoyed setting up the camp site, collecting and chopping the wood, hanging the canopy over the picnic table and how I do remember him making a pot of coffee over the fire every morning.
We mostly camped throughout New Hampshire and Maine. I remember one camping place, The Old Sand Desert of Maine. I’d walk from our camp site with my arms full of cups, to a sand pit. There I would kneel for the longest time, digging in the sand and collecting in each cup, all the different colors of sand to bring back home with me. It was quite amazing to me. Purples, oranges, reds, yellow…sand.
We slept in comfort in our tent, upon bunks with air mattresses. The fresh air blew through the screens. We always did things and went places together, as a family.
There were years also that we rented cottages along the lakes or ocean. I remember well a trip from N.H. to Florida as a child. We stopped in many states, taking our time and saw many things, along the way.
We toured the White House, and climbed the Lincoln Memorial steps. We rode up to the top of the Washington Monument and had dinner in the State Capital building. We toured museums and visited the Unknown Soldier site.
In New York, I spent days touring and taking part in the New York World’s Fair. I viewed New York from atop of the Empire State building; went to Radio city and Times Square. Toured the United Nations and watched new laws being passed.
In Georgia, I learned first hand of segregation and as a child it shocked me enough that I've always remembered it.
In Florida, I found the ocean amazingly warm compared to all I knew of it along the New England coast.
After years of travel for vacationing, my parents decided to buy a summer home in the country, on a lake. This home remained as such for many years and in that time, many wonderful years of memories came to be. Seems strange as we tell this story, which the builders of these summer homes were known yet it was unplanned to meet again. My parents, in their search for the right lake home to purchase, came upon the land for sale by four brothers which my mother and siblings went through high school together, miles away.
These four brothers were builders and were building summer homes around the lake. My parents decided to buy the land and had their home built by these brothers.
My aunt, uncle and cousins also joined us there, and bought their summer home as well. It must of seemed strange for my mother and her brother to be once again in the company of some high school friends but now as adults, all with their own families.
And so it was, in the summer this is where we’d go. Even weekends, we’d drive north to this summer home from the city. Even in the winter a few times, I remember my father turning on the water and heat, loading that wood stove for a long weekend. Only having to drain the water before leaving so it did not freeze in the pipes.
The memories of this summer home are too many to ever tell all. We water skied, fished, lived in the water, had fires at night on the beach. Went boating, and on picnics and of course as kids, exploring. We stayed out late at night. We’d go to dances and drink soda. We’d get rides to the arcade, or walk barefoot to the ice cream stand for banana splits. We discovered we could run under the water falls of the damn and sit there in a rock like cave, and watch the water from underneath, gush through the damn before our eyes. There were neither fears nor worries. We all knew each other. We were our parent’s children in carefree summer days.
Of course, for me, as an early teen, there was summer love. There were a few, though one remained in contact even in letters during the off seasons. Yet, we were friends.
I remember him quite well back then. We’d water ski together, and hang out with the group that also had summer homes there. We’d sing and laugh while sitting around the beach fires at night. We’d lie in a hammock outside an empty camp and talk while looking into the night’s sky. We never kissed. It was a comfort I think to us both, to just lie side by side in that slow rocking hammock and be near. He’d come to my bedroom window late mornings to try to wake me. He’d walk me home at night when all our friends would part and head home for sleep in the wee hours of morning. He’d be waiting for me to arrive and voice his disappointment to my parents if I did not come up with them, as I grew older. And he’d write to me during the winter months while apart. After all, we were friends.
And as we did grow older, we did remain friends yet we dated others. Sometimes we dated others while at the summer home. Still, we’d always meet back late at night, around that fire on the beach, feeling it was the best part of the night. And there were times it was in our own home cities which we were involved in another and we saw each other less and less as we grew up.
Yet, we were friends.
So many memories.
Other family members joined in these fun filled summer vacations. We’d all reserve our camping sites next to each other at different camp grounds. Such fun we’d have, especially being from the city, to sit around a camp fire and roast marshmellows on a stick in the fire at night, blowing out their flames before they resembled charcoal. How yummy they were no matter how well done, between two pieces of chocolate.
My father enjoyed setting up the camp site, collecting and chopping the wood, hanging the canopy over the picnic table and how I do remember him making a pot of coffee over the fire every morning.
We mostly camped throughout New Hampshire and Maine. I remember one camping place, The Old Sand Desert of Maine. I’d walk from our camp site with my arms full of cups, to a sand pit. There I would kneel for the longest time, digging in the sand and collecting in each cup, all the different colors of sand to bring back home with me. It was quite amazing to me. Purples, oranges, reds, yellow…sand.
We slept in comfort in our tent, upon bunks with air mattresses. The fresh air blew through the screens. We always did things and went places together, as a family.
There were years also that we rented cottages along the lakes or ocean. I remember well a trip from N.H. to Florida as a child. We stopped in many states, taking our time and saw many things, along the way.
We toured the White House, and climbed the Lincoln Memorial steps. We rode up to the top of the Washington Monument and had dinner in the State Capital building. We toured museums and visited the Unknown Soldier site.
In New York, I spent days touring and taking part in the New York World’s Fair. I viewed New York from atop of the Empire State building; went to Radio city and Times Square. Toured the United Nations and watched new laws being passed.
In Georgia, I learned first hand of segregation and as a child it shocked me enough that I've always remembered it.
In Florida, I found the ocean amazingly warm compared to all I knew of it along the New England coast.
After years of travel for vacationing, my parents decided to buy a summer home in the country, on a lake. This home remained as such for many years and in that time, many wonderful years of memories came to be. Seems strange as we tell this story, which the builders of these summer homes were known yet it was unplanned to meet again. My parents, in their search for the right lake home to purchase, came upon the land for sale by four brothers which my mother and siblings went through high school together, miles away.
These four brothers were builders and were building summer homes around the lake. My parents decided to buy the land and had their home built by these brothers.
My aunt, uncle and cousins also joined us there, and bought their summer home as well. It must of seemed strange for my mother and her brother to be once again in the company of some high school friends but now as adults, all with their own families.
And so it was, in the summer this is where we’d go. Even weekends, we’d drive north to this summer home from the city. Even in the winter a few times, I remember my father turning on the water and heat, loading that wood stove for a long weekend. Only having to drain the water before leaving so it did not freeze in the pipes.
The memories of this summer home are too many to ever tell all. We water skied, fished, lived in the water, had fires at night on the beach. Went boating, and on picnics and of course as kids, exploring. We stayed out late at night. We’d go to dances and drink soda. We’d get rides to the arcade, or walk barefoot to the ice cream stand for banana splits. We discovered we could run under the water falls of the damn and sit there in a rock like cave, and watch the water from underneath, gush through the damn before our eyes. There were neither fears nor worries. We all knew each other. We were our parent’s children in carefree summer days.
Of course, for me, as an early teen, there was summer love. There were a few, though one remained in contact even in letters during the off seasons. Yet, we were friends.
I remember him quite well back then. We’d water ski together, and hang out with the group that also had summer homes there. We’d sing and laugh while sitting around the beach fires at night. We’d lie in a hammock outside an empty camp and talk while looking into the night’s sky. We never kissed. It was a comfort I think to us both, to just lie side by side in that slow rocking hammock and be near. He’d come to my bedroom window late mornings to try to wake me. He’d walk me home at night when all our friends would part and head home for sleep in the wee hours of morning. He’d be waiting for me to arrive and voice his disappointment to my parents if I did not come up with them, as I grew older. And he’d write to me during the winter months while apart. After all, we were friends.
And as we did grow older, we did remain friends yet we dated others. Sometimes we dated others while at the summer home. Still, we’d always meet back late at night, around that fire on the beach, feeling it was the best part of the night. And there were times it was in our own home cities which we were involved in another and we saw each other less and less as we grew up.
Yet, we were friends.
So many memories.
Pure Silence
Pure as the newly fallen snow..
So simple yet...
It can take one's breath away..
In just a moment's glance..
Without a sound.
~Opal~
Words sent on Mother's Day...."Because You Loved Me"
For all those times you stood by me,
For all the truth that you made me see,
For all the joy you brought to my life,
For all the wrongs that you made right.
For every dream you made come true,
For all the love I found in you...
I'll be forever thankful...
You're the one who held me up..
Never let me fall.
Your the one who saw me through..
Through it all.
You were my strength when I was weak,
You were my voice when I couldn't speak.
You were my eyes when I couldn't see,
You saw the best in me..
Lifted me up when I couldn't reach,
You gave me faith cause you believed,
I'm everything I am, because you loved me.
You gave me wings to make me fly,
You touched my hand I could reach the sky,
I lost my faith, you gave it back to me,
You said no star was out of reach.
You stood by me and I stood tall,
I had your love, I had it all
I'm grateful for each day you gave me.
Maybe I don't know that much
But I know this much is true..
I was blessed because I was loved by you.
You were always there for me
The tender wind that carried me.
A light in the dark shining your love into my life.
You've been my inspiration,
Through the lies you were the truth,
My world is a better place because of you.
I'm everything I am...
Because you loved me.
For all the truth that you made me see,
For all the joy you brought to my life,
For all the wrongs that you made right.
For every dream you made come true,
For all the love I found in you...
I'll be forever thankful...
You're the one who held me up..
Never let me fall.
Your the one who saw me through..
Through it all.
You were my strength when I was weak,
You were my voice when I couldn't speak.
You were my eyes when I couldn't see,
You saw the best in me..
Lifted me up when I couldn't reach,
You gave me faith cause you believed,
I'm everything I am, because you loved me.
You gave me wings to make me fly,
You touched my hand I could reach the sky,
I lost my faith, you gave it back to me,
You said no star was out of reach.
You stood by me and I stood tall,
I had your love, I had it all
I'm grateful for each day you gave me.
Maybe I don't know that much
But I know this much is true..
I was blessed because I was loved by you.
You were always there for me
The tender wind that carried me.
A light in the dark shining your love into my life.
You've been my inspiration,
Through the lies you were the truth,
My world is a better place because of you.
I'm everything I am...
Because you loved me.
Email more memories....
Date: 3/11/2007 9:50:04 AM
To: Opal
Subject: Re: Where ARE you?
HI, again, just thinking, there are so many songs that remind me of ma, I have a tape of Helen Reddy, but one particular song, I have, that me and ma always listened to , together, was "Me and you against the world," you may remember it, about a daughter singing about her mother, I have always loved it, and used to get teary eyed listening to it years ago, before losing ma, because I knew then, the day would come. I still think of the song, but just can't listen to it. Ma always LOVED Irish music; I listened to it a lot growing up, ma & Dad Played that type of music a lot so I know a lot about Irish music
To: Opal
Subject: Re: Where ARE you?
HI, again, just thinking, there are so many songs that remind me of ma, I have a tape of Helen Reddy, but one particular song, I have, that me and ma always listened to , together, was "Me and you against the world," you may remember it, about a daughter singing about her mother, I have always loved it, and used to get teary eyed listening to it years ago, before losing ma, because I knew then, the day would come. I still think of the song, but just can't listen to it. Ma always LOVED Irish music; I listened to it a lot growing up, ma & Dad Played that type of music a lot so I know a lot about Irish music
You & Me Against The World
You and me against the world,
Sometimes it seems like You and me against the world.
When all the others turn their backs and walked away,
You can count on me to stay.
Remember when the circus came to town
How you were frightened by the clown,
Wasn't it nice to be around someone that you knew
Someone who was big and strong and looking out for
You and me against the world,
Sometimes it seems like You and me against the world
And for all the times we've cried I always felt that
God was on our side.
And when one of us is gone,
And one of us is left to carry on,
Then remembering will have to do,
Our memories alone will get us through
Think about the days of me and you,
Of You and me against the world.
Sometimes it seems like You and me against the world.
When all the others turn their backs and walked away,
You can count on me to stay.
Remember when the circus came to town
How you were frightened by the clown,
Wasn't it nice to be around someone that you knew
Someone who was big and strong and looking out for
You and me against the world,
Sometimes it seems like You and me against the world
And for all the times we've cried I always felt that
God was on our side.
And when one of us is gone,
And one of us is left to carry on,
Then remembering will have to do,
Our memories alone will get us through
Think about the days of me and you,
Of You and me against the world.
Sun's Warmth
The Warmth of the sun upon my face,
As Your touch with such loving grace.
As I have cried the tears of loss and grief,
In love and faith, you've brought belief.
~Opal~
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
More Emails of sharing thoughts and remembering younger days...
Date: 3/8/2007 9:25:15 AM
To: Opal
Good morning!! You are right, about "TALKING" it does us good, it is easier to write to each other, don't feel like "choking" up so much, or at least it's easier to control. The more we talk, the more will come out, and we will feel more comfortable expressing ourselves, and feel better inside. This will become a routine with us, and we all need to do it. Just keep up your writing, because through you, our feelings are in front of us, instead of being held deep inside, and hurting...Barb.
Date: 3/9/2007 10:10:16 PM
To: Opal
Was thinking of ma today, as usual, how she used to call you "DOLLY" when you were REAL little. I remember one time, I was maybe 14, I was going out, and you were crying for me to stay home, and you kept saying, "Don’t go BAABA, Don't go" you couldn't say Barbara, so you called me, BAABA. And ma said, "Barby, she doesn't want you to go, but I said 'I have to"!! Just something I remembered, just a little thing, but so vivid. She always called you Dolly, especially, if you were crying, she always said, in a caring way, "what is it, Dolly". ..Barb.
Date: 3/10/2007 9:18:11 AM
To: Opal
Also, awhile ago, I did tell you about ma calling you Dolly, thought you had forgot, but did not tell you any stories about it. When you went to say the word dolly, when you were little, you pronounced it"JODDY" instead of dolly!!! Bill and I and Ma used to call you JODDY DOLL. I like the idea of us writing together, I remember so much, especially when you were little, and too young to remember certain things. I sometimes really have to search my memory and sometimes, these things just pop up in mind. Barb.
To: Opal
Good morning!! You are right, about "TALKING" it does us good, it is easier to write to each other, don't feel like "choking" up so much, or at least it's easier to control. The more we talk, the more will come out, and we will feel more comfortable expressing ourselves, and feel better inside. This will become a routine with us, and we all need to do it. Just keep up your writing, because through you, our feelings are in front of us, instead of being held deep inside, and hurting...Barb.
Date: 3/9/2007 10:10:16 PM
To: Opal
Was thinking of ma today, as usual, how she used to call you "DOLLY" when you were REAL little. I remember one time, I was maybe 14, I was going out, and you were crying for me to stay home, and you kept saying, "Don’t go BAABA, Don't go" you couldn't say Barbara, so you called me, BAABA. And ma said, "Barby, she doesn't want you to go, but I said 'I have to"!! Just something I remembered, just a little thing, but so vivid. She always called you Dolly, especially, if you were crying, she always said, in a caring way, "what is it, Dolly". ..Barb.
Date: 3/10/2007 9:18:11 AM
To: Opal
Also, awhile ago, I did tell you about ma calling you Dolly, thought you had forgot, but did not tell you any stories about it. When you went to say the word dolly, when you were little, you pronounced it"JODDY" instead of dolly!!! Bill and I and Ma used to call you JODDY DOLL. I like the idea of us writing together, I remember so much, especially when you were little, and too young to remember certain things. I sometimes really have to search my memory and sometimes, these things just pop up in mind. Barb.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Sisters, daughters, granddaughters
(Sister & Opal)
Sisters, growing up together, sharing the accomplishments of their worlds; their pains of their experiences, the joys of their dreams. Even then, few may go their own separate ways. Some, only for awhile and return into each other’s familiar arms once again.
Sisters, a special bond, that seems to know each other unlike any other. Sharing laughter and silliness that girls will. Sharing tears of discouragements at times, usually life’s best lesson’s learned. And giving comfort to each other, when no one else just seems to be enough.
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(Opal's daughters)
Sisters; the laughter and joys of play. It is trust, unlike
any other. Sisters are what memories are made of.
Don’t let each other forget those times. Hold on.
Hold on to each other and all that’s been and all that will
be, even with each other’s imperfections. Forgive.
And if, one needs to leave your side for awhile to explore
their own grounds and paint their own mural, let it be.
Let it be as it needs to be. With arms wide open.
Don’t hurt one another. As there will come a day in your
life time, that it will be your sister whom will
Hold you close, unlike any other. And will know you,
unlike any other and her hug will feel unlike any other.
And you will know you’ve come home, again.
(Opal's Granddaughters)
Sisters. So innocently so.
The best of friends, even
When tempers blow.
Sisters. The sweetest of all friends.
A love and care that never ends.
In everlasting words, I speak;
I love you, my sweet sister.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
In Dedication to my Mother...
If Only...
If only we could tell her,
Of how we miss her so,
If only we could tell her,
The hurt will never go.
If only we could go back,
Before that sad, sad, day.
But what would we change?
What would we ever say?
If only we could show her,
The flowers when they start,
We made for her a garden,
In the shape of a heart.
If only she could realize,
We hold her deep inside,
The beauty of life surrounds us,
Because she is, our eyes.
If only in her life, to see,
How close her family came to be,
It was her wish from above,
Because she gave us the gift of love.
*~Barb~*
If only we could tell her,
Of how we miss her so,
If only we could tell her,
The hurt will never go.
If only we could go back,
Before that sad, sad, day.
But what would we change?
What would we ever say?
If only we could show her,
The flowers when they start,
We made for her a garden,
In the shape of a heart.
If only she could realize,
We hold her deep inside,
The beauty of life surrounds us,
Because she is, our eyes.
If only in her life, to see,
How close her family came to be,
It was her wish from above,
Because she gave us the gift of love.
*~Barb~*
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Garden of Love & Memory
Spring was approaching, and upon my table were daffodils and the single pussy willow branch from the hospital room. I still have that lone branch.
I wanted to build a garden in my mother’s memory. To watch the pussy willows grow and multiply. To see the daffodils as the first sign of spring and to plant lilies which she enjoyed me getting her on Mother’s day, in rare colors.
I walked around trying to find the best place for it. A place that was quiet, and undisturbed. A place, I could go and feel close to her. To watch it grow and see its beauty; a special place.
It was decided that it would go in a corner of the lawn, along the woods, and from there it was created. Its idea grew from pussy willows, daffodils and lilies into an area that is alive and blooming with plants of all kinds. A bird bath and small meaningful statues of angels, some my own daughter’s gave to me, on a Mother’s Day.
One day, as I walked down the lawn to the garden, I noticed something. I stopped walking, and just stared, looking down at the garden area. To my surprised, I saw the rocks that surrounded this garden forming a large heart around the entire garden. This was unplanned and yet, there it was. A perfect heart surrounding the entire garden made in my mother’s memory.
I wanted to build a garden in my mother’s memory. To watch the pussy willows grow and multiply. To see the daffodils as the first sign of spring and to plant lilies which she enjoyed me getting her on Mother’s day, in rare colors.
I walked around trying to find the best place for it. A place that was quiet, and undisturbed. A place, I could go and feel close to her. To watch it grow and see its beauty; a special place.
It was decided that it would go in a corner of the lawn, along the woods, and from there it was created. Its idea grew from pussy willows, daffodils and lilies into an area that is alive and blooming with plants of all kinds. A bird bath and small meaningful statues of angels, some my own daughter’s gave to me, on a Mother’s Day.
One day, as I walked down the lawn to the garden, I noticed something. I stopped walking, and just stared, looking down at the garden area. To my surprised, I saw the rocks that surrounded this garden forming a large heart around the entire garden. This was unplanned and yet, there it was. A perfect heart surrounding the entire garden made in my mother’s memory.
Flowing thoughts Begin
(Second email from sister)
You’re the one who made me speak my thoughts. With you, it seems easier to say things. One more thing, for now, I feel l see her more, when I don't try so hard too. It seems to happen that way. As soon as I have more feelings and thoughts I will tell you, thanks for always being there for us, and easing the pain, I am here for you ALWAYS, no matter what you want to say, say it, and I will respond. I am so thankful to have the family we have, we are all SO LUCKY!!! It's a rare thing.
You’re the one who made me speak my thoughts. With you, it seems easier to say things. One more thing, for now, I feel l see her more, when I don't try so hard too. It seems to happen that way. As soon as I have more feelings and thoughts I will tell you, thanks for always being there for us, and easing the pain, I am here for you ALWAYS, no matter what you want to say, say it, and I will respond. I am so thankful to have the family we have, we are all SO LUCKY!!! It's a rare thing.
First words spoken and shared
(First email from sister)
I read your beautiful thoughts, I used to wonder if I was the only one who had thoughts as I have been having, but you’re the same way. I do see her also, mostly, I have found when I least expect it. When I see an older lady driving, it looks likes Ma, or in the grocery store, someone driving one of those auto. cars she used to, and I see her face in that woman, I want to go hug her, cause she is so similar to Ma. I never told any one this, this is a good a time as any, last July, I was sitting on the edge of my bed, watching tv, not thinking of ANYTHING, and something caught my eye, in the corner of my eye I saw her, walking down the hall here pass the kitchen, with a sheet on her from shoulders down, I jumped off my bed and went out of the room, and it faded. It was so REAL. At night, I look into darkness, hoping for an image, but feel it only will happen when I don't expect. Hope this doesn't sound ridiculous. I see her in mostly you and Bill, with your tender concern, compassion and great sense of humor, which is so unique. (sister;Barb)
I read your beautiful thoughts, I used to wonder if I was the only one who had thoughts as I have been having, but you’re the same way. I do see her also, mostly, I have found when I least expect it. When I see an older lady driving, it looks likes Ma, or in the grocery store, someone driving one of those auto. cars she used to, and I see her face in that woman, I want to go hug her, cause she is so similar to Ma. I never told any one this, this is a good a time as any, last July, I was sitting on the edge of my bed, watching tv, not thinking of ANYTHING, and something caught my eye, in the corner of my eye I saw her, walking down the hall here pass the kitchen, with a sheet on her from shoulders down, I jumped off my bed and went out of the room, and it faded. It was so REAL. At night, I look into darkness, hoping for an image, but feel it only will happen when I don't expect. Hope this doesn't sound ridiculous. I see her in mostly you and Bill, with your tender concern, compassion and great sense of humor, which is so unique. (sister;Barb)
Sister's Love
My sister, my very special sister. I’ve wanted so much to write about her, yet to even begin to find the words to express so many feelings that I have for her, seems almost impossible to do. There is no way which I could truly capture what is in my heart for her and express it in such ways that anyone else could know its depth. Though, I do believe she knows. And I do believe the deepness of our feelings that we share for one another are equal. For I too feel from her what she holds for me.My sister has always been there for me, as I have her. When I was a teenager, I lived with her for awhile. Still, at that time, the difference in our ages and our circumstances played a part in us not finding great closeness then. We did have good times and laughs, but it was not until much later did we feel almost entwined with one another.
For reasons later on in our life, we, once again lived together for about 8 months. It was during this time that we learned how much we were alike, in so many ways. It would come as a surprise, each trait that we learned we both shared. How alike we were! Our thoughts, ideas, feelings and little day to day common interests we found we shared. Some things were serious to us, meaningful and yet others things were silly though still, surprising. We both shared in the same thoughts or feelings and we grew closer unlike we ever had before.
Though there were circumstances that brought us to live together later in life, I now cannot believe that fate also did not play a part in that time. I don’t believe our relationship could have become what it has, without that time we had together. I see her in ways I never had before that time. I feel such a part of her, and I know also she has that same feeling. We both just know.
We were given time to spend with each other and we shared much. We had many talks, tears shed and laughs. She is one whom I can tell anything to, without fear of rejection. She is one whom I could trust with my very life and know she would do her best by me. I enjoy our time spent together. There is not another like her in the world. She has a keen sense of humor, full of life and wit. Innocently she can speak of something that brings us both to laughter. We can become quite silly. We also have had our sisterly talks, and listen to each other when we need one another.
Two years ago, my sister finally met her long time goals and dreams. First, she retired from her work of many long years and second, she moved north, to be near our mother. She had a full year of good time with our mother before she passed. During this year, my sister was with our mother daily. They enjoyed their time spent. They would go shopping, to appointments, have supper together, watch movies and shows together and had many laughs. It was a good year, a close year spent.
For most of this past year, my sister has not spoken much of our loss, nor our brother. Seems we all turned inward with our feelings after our mother was gone. We continued our close ways, yet there has been this missing piece in this past year. We never spoke of it but I felt it. It was what we both were holding inside and not sharing with each other yet we accepted each other for where we were at. Still, there was silence on this topic, which we knew inside of us it was not so silent. We still cried on the inside. We felt the emptiness. How could it not be so? How could we had gone through Thanksgiving without saying speaking once of our Mother or on Christmas? Odd, that on these holidays, she not be mentioned. The first year without her when each of us knew, she was fully on our minds. It could only mean and prove that we could not bear it and that inside of us, privately, we still grieved deeply. Though, we could not speak of it.
And here, to these writings, my sister has come to read. And it is from here, that things such as grief and silence begin to change. Memories have begun to flow and be spoken of, and be shared. We begin now to talk more of those times we’ve shielded for awhile. Healing does now begin, I believe.
It has been like a damn breaking open lately, the emails that my sister has been writing to me of feelings and past memories. Many, I had never known. Most are quiet funny, least to us and once again, we are sharing without fear of emotions. We are laughing.
Some of her emails, our memories, will be shared in this site. Her words and memories are an important part of us and FOR us, who we are and of our healing process.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
What Would I Do Without Her?
My mother did not leave me empty when she passed. She left me with her gift of life. How easy it would be to choose to be blind to this and to ignore, out of my own fears of falling apart within, in grief. Instead, I know that my mother would want me to choose to accept her gift she so freely gave, and move forward with it.
I seek to feel comfort in my thoughts of my mother, not pain, nor emptiness. To feel her presence, not absence. To think of her, and remember rather than attempt, with great struggles to avoid thoughts of her. A mother as her could only give of contentment and her love taught me this. I will not forget. I am filled with memories of a lifetime because of her which seem to come now in even greater appreciation than ever before. My own life continues on, sharing memories and making new. She is still a part of that and always will be. I know, she would not wish for me to miss these opportunities. Her love taught me this. And as I move on, I bring with me, parts of my mother.
I cannot ignore that in all things, she exists. I see her, when I look into the mirror, or catch a glimpse of her in a look or movement in my sister and brother. I see her in the smile of my own children, and in the eyes of my grandchildren. She is a part of each of us and of who we are. She would not want for me to miss anything in my life, by turning a cheek out of pain or sorrow. For I know, if I did this, she did not exist.
Instead, I seek for ways to carry her forward with me; to speak to her and to believe that she does hear me. In doing so, I find comfort still in her. I feel her warmth and allow the beauty of her to continue on in her shine. I feel her presence still surrounding me and I do not fear it.
And as tears do fall, as they sometimes will, it is her cleansing my soul once again. Let it be.
In this, I found the answer to my question so many times asked. “What would I do without her?”
And I know I will continue on, keeping her memory alive as sweet not bitter, just as she told me. Not fear, but acceptance; neither blindness nor avoidance but rather with my eyes open and a heart that still holds her dearly. And this is what I am to do.
This she taught me. And now I know, in her teachings, I am never without her.
I seek to feel comfort in my thoughts of my mother, not pain, nor emptiness. To feel her presence, not absence. To think of her, and remember rather than attempt, with great struggles to avoid thoughts of her. A mother as her could only give of contentment and her love taught me this. I will not forget. I am filled with memories of a lifetime because of her which seem to come now in even greater appreciation than ever before. My own life continues on, sharing memories and making new. She is still a part of that and always will be. I know, she would not wish for me to miss these opportunities. Her love taught me this. And as I move on, I bring with me, parts of my mother.
I cannot ignore that in all things, she exists. I see her, when I look into the mirror, or catch a glimpse of her in a look or movement in my sister and brother. I see her in the smile of my own children, and in the eyes of my grandchildren. She is a part of each of us and of who we are. She would not want for me to miss anything in my life, by turning a cheek out of pain or sorrow. For I know, if I did this, she did not exist.
Instead, I seek for ways to carry her forward with me; to speak to her and to believe that she does hear me. In doing so, I find comfort still in her. I feel her warmth and allow the beauty of her to continue on in her shine. I feel her presence still surrounding me and I do not fear it.
And as tears do fall, as they sometimes will, it is her cleansing my soul once again. Let it be.
In this, I found the answer to my question so many times asked. “What would I do without her?”
And I know I will continue on, keeping her memory alive as sweet not bitter, just as she told me. Not fear, but acceptance; neither blindness nor avoidance but rather with my eyes open and a heart that still holds her dearly. And this is what I am to do.
This she taught me. And now I know, in her teachings, I am never without her.
*Believe*
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
Author Unknown
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
Author Unknown
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Gift to Oneself
It was by choice that I spent my 30th birthday alone that day. I didn’t want to share it in celebration with others. I’m not sure of the reason that this day, turning 30, just made me feel different. I spent that October day, alone, wandering in and out of small shops in the city. It was a warm, sunny, autumn day, my favorite time of year. I took my time, reading history by the capital building; I toured a museum, taking note of everything surrounding me. It had a large carriage coach in the middle of the building. Long marble halls and art displays.
I had lunch in a small park, between buildings. Sitting upon the granite stones placed around a huge water fountain. I people watched. I visited the library and I piled books into my arms to look through. Finding a comfortable place to read, I sat there till near dark, looking through book after book.
Between the pages of one book, was a hand written poem on a piece of paper. I read it once and then again. I read it over and over. Though, here I had books upon books before me on poetry, this one poem was fitting. There was something about it which I just could not put down. I put the paper in my pocket and now hurried to get home before it got too dark.
For the past 23 years, I have read that poem many times. I still hold it near. It is dear to me and meaningful. There are times, when just out of the blue, that poem comes to my mind and it has crossed my mind many, many times. I find it most beautiful in its meaning.
Since that day 23 years ago, upon my 30th birthday which I first found this poem, I have seen it many other places. It is not unknown. Yet, to me for whatever reason, it was a gift to discover. Happy Birthday to me.
After A While
After a while, you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand & chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security,
And you begin to learn
That Kisses aren’t contracts
And Presents aren’t promises.
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open,
With the grace of a woman,
Not the grief of a child.
And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain
For plans, and futures have a way of falling
down in mid-flight.
After awhile you learn that even sunshine
Burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate
Your own soul, instead of waiting
For someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure…
That you really are strong
And you really do have worth.
And you learn and you learn…
With every goodbye..You learn.
© 1971..Veronica A. Shoffstall.
I had lunch in a small park, between buildings. Sitting upon the granite stones placed around a huge water fountain. I people watched. I visited the library and I piled books into my arms to look through. Finding a comfortable place to read, I sat there till near dark, looking through book after book.
Between the pages of one book, was a hand written poem on a piece of paper. I read it once and then again. I read it over and over. Though, here I had books upon books before me on poetry, this one poem was fitting. There was something about it which I just could not put down. I put the paper in my pocket and now hurried to get home before it got too dark.
For the past 23 years, I have read that poem many times. I still hold it near. It is dear to me and meaningful. There are times, when just out of the blue, that poem comes to my mind and it has crossed my mind many, many times. I find it most beautiful in its meaning.
Since that day 23 years ago, upon my 30th birthday which I first found this poem, I have seen it many other places. It is not unknown. Yet, to me for whatever reason, it was a gift to discover. Happy Birthday to me.
After A While
After a while, you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand & chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security,
And you begin to learn
That Kisses aren’t contracts
And Presents aren’t promises.
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open,
With the grace of a woman,
Not the grief of a child.
And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain
For plans, and futures have a way of falling
down in mid-flight.
After awhile you learn that even sunshine
Burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate
Your own soul, instead of waiting
For someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure…
That you really are strong
And you really do have worth.
And you learn and you learn…
With every goodbye..You learn.
© 1971..Veronica A. Shoffstall.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Mother
I truly believe that the best way to know something, to absolutely know something is to experience it yourself and until this happens, one can only imagine. No matter what is taught, or understood, it’s not only the mind to know, but the heart.
It was not until I became a mother that I truly knew of love. Everything seemed to change around me, but it was I that changed. Not only did I have child in arms but I now knew of my own mother’s love for me. I always knew but until I also became what she was, little did I know what this love consisted of.
Seems it is a path in childhood, I needed my mother. As I entered those rebellious teen years, of course I knew everything I needed to know in life, and I drifted away from her. I am grateful that I was so blessed to return to her, as this is when I began to know her. Not know her only as my mother but as the woman she was and the wonderful friend she became. The more I knew her, the more I appreciated her and the more I loved her.
My mother was the core of our family; the heart of it. It’s very soul. My mother carried us all, kept us safe and secure by us knowing she was always there for us no matter what. She was the definition of unconditional love. She was loved by all that knew her.
Doris May; a most beautiful woman. She gave to all and never expected nor wanted anything in return. She was laughter and happiness, which she brought wherever she went. She would light up a room merely by entering it. She was welcomed and wanted. My mother loved intelligence and conversation; debating issues, discussions. She was bright and self taught in areas that mattered. She read most everything. She read and knew the bible; Shakespeare; poetry; the classics; and the world. We’d joke how she should have become a game contestant on Wheel of Fortune, How To Become A Millionaire, or Jeopardy. She was quick and she knew most answers before they did. She never lost this capacity.
She loved boating and fishing, camping, dancing, singing, and travel. She loved reading and learning. She loved good times and she had strength through the difficult times. She loved her family and she loved her friends, which she had many. She loved people. She loved life and lived it to it's fullest.
She was our rock.
My mother could bring us up, when we were down. She would relieve our worries; comfort us when we hurt. She could make us laugh with her quick wit, and sense of humor. She brought sense to times that had confused and bewildered. She was the part of the world to us that was grounded and secure, when all else seemed to be falling apart. Its no wonder, I selfishly asked myself, what would I do without her? And the more I knew her, and the closer we became, the more I wondered the answer to that question.
~*And now I know that the most important gift of love that my mother gave to me was the answer to that question, all along.*~
It was not until I became a mother that I truly knew of love. Everything seemed to change around me, but it was I that changed. Not only did I have child in arms but I now knew of my own mother’s love for me. I always knew but until I also became what she was, little did I know what this love consisted of.
Seems it is a path in childhood, I needed my mother. As I entered those rebellious teen years, of course I knew everything I needed to know in life, and I drifted away from her. I am grateful that I was so blessed to return to her, as this is when I began to know her. Not know her only as my mother but as the woman she was and the wonderful friend she became. The more I knew her, the more I appreciated her and the more I loved her.
My mother was the core of our family; the heart of it. It’s very soul. My mother carried us all, kept us safe and secure by us knowing she was always there for us no matter what. She was the definition of unconditional love. She was loved by all that knew her.
Doris May; a most beautiful woman. She gave to all and never expected nor wanted anything in return. She was laughter and happiness, which she brought wherever she went. She would light up a room merely by entering it. She was welcomed and wanted. My mother loved intelligence and conversation; debating issues, discussions. She was bright and self taught in areas that mattered. She read most everything. She read and knew the bible; Shakespeare; poetry; the classics; and the world. We’d joke how she should have become a game contestant on Wheel of Fortune, How To Become A Millionaire, or Jeopardy. She was quick and she knew most answers before they did. She never lost this capacity.
She loved boating and fishing, camping, dancing, singing, and travel. She loved reading and learning. She loved good times and she had strength through the difficult times. She loved her family and she loved her friends, which she had many. She loved people. She loved life and lived it to it's fullest.
She was our rock.
My mother could bring us up, when we were down. She would relieve our worries; comfort us when we hurt. She could make us laugh with her quick wit, and sense of humor. She brought sense to times that had confused and bewildered. She was the part of the world to us that was grounded and secure, when all else seemed to be falling apart. Its no wonder, I selfishly asked myself, what would I do without her? And the more I knew her, and the closer we became, the more I wondered the answer to that question.
~*And now I know that the most important gift of love that my mother gave to me was the answer to that question, all along.*~
Thursday, March 1, 2007
My World
You are My World...
I hear your echo gently brush me with soft breeze.
My senses waken with magnificent trees.
Like families gather, roots taken hold.
The time of change, as life does unfold.
I hear your voice, of tender words which I long,
A hush of a moment brings your sweet song.
I see your face, your memory clear,
Life passes on still, as I shed a tear.
Let me bask in your beauty of reflection.
My mothers gift of her own perfection.
You are not gone, a love so deep.
How could I weep?
~Opal~
I hear your echo gently brush me with soft breeze.
My senses waken with magnificent trees.
Like families gather, roots taken hold.
The time of change, as life does unfold.
I hear your voice, of tender words which I long,
A hush of a moment brings your sweet song.
I see your face, your memory clear,
Life passes on still, as I shed a tear.
Let me bask in your beauty of reflection.
My mothers gift of her own perfection.
You are not gone, a love so deep.
How could I weep?
~Opal~