| I lost a child in July. A wonderful sweet child. She brought so much joy to my life. I take her kind and gentle ways and share with others I meet. She taught me compassion, and she taught me to be humble. Time will never erase her influence, and everyday I judge my actions by the reflection in her eyes. She was a hard worker, a wonderful cook, and a gracious hostess. She was very devout, and loved to share her faith with her family and friends. She has the best of everything. She wants for nothing that can be bought. Yet yearns every minute of everyday for one thing. Her Family. That's all. She spends the last days of her life in a small apartment. Afraid. Alone. Wishing for company, for friends and family, Anyone. I am not allowed to spend an evening with her. I can only visit for a short time during the weekdays. I cannot take her visiting, or for an ice cream, or for a walk in the park. I am not allowed to call her on a regular basis. I cannot tuck her into bed, or give her a goodnight kiss before leaving. The leaving is the most horrible. She begs me: "Please don't go" and "I don't understand" I answer: "I cannot take you home" and "I cannot stay" I am sorry. Her pleas will forever echo in my heart, never to fade. She will not understand I love her, but I cannot help her. I wish for the days before... when she held me. When it seemed she would always be there. When she was happy. When she was home. She will never go home, but will always be a part of my life. She is 81 years old. She is my Mother. I lost another child in September. He loved the outdoors, to plant, to cultivate. He was a proud person. He knew just where he was going, and how to get there. He was fiercely independent, and made sure everyone understood he could take care of himself. He was feisty, passionate, strong, and a little hyper. He amazed everyone with his stamina and determination. He lived with crippling pain everyday for years, yet still managed to plant roses, feed the birds, pick up cans, and make people laugh. He mourns for his sweetheart, and he would gather wildflowers for her. He wanted to take her a special gift each visit. It wasn't unusual for him to be dressed in his best, holding flowers and waiting for hours for a ride to just visit her for only a few minutes. He would call everyone he knew trying to hitch a ride to see her. He would cry when he saw her. And again when he left her. His final days will be spent in confusion, with his heart broken. He will beg. He will cry. He will feel betrayed. He will not understand that I love him, but I cannot help him. He is at the end of a road that is not filled with roses and sunshine. The wonderful energy he brought will soon be gone. He will never go home, but will always be a part of my life. He is 83 years old. He is my Father. |
| "I cannot take you home" |
| O D. Flowers September 2008 |
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| If you have a poem or reflection of my Mom and Dad, please email me, I will post it. |
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