A Butterfly Set Free
Her beautiful wings, limp
Her brilliant color, faded
Her vibrant soul, covered in sorrow
Set the butterfly free
For a time we caught her
We held her close
We gave her love
Let her go, let her be free
She gave us sunshine
She filled us with a smile
She gave us love
Set the butterfly free
Rejoice her spirit is liberated
Rejoice she is free to soar
Rejoice she is free to progress
She was trapped, now she is free
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Sunday, September 23, 2007
a blip of another one...
It all started on a very warm glorious day. There he was all man and only 5 feet tall. He had not gotten his growth spurt yet. He was so cute it did not matter. Dark brown hair toppled his head in an oh-so sexy way. I instantly had a crush. Not the average 15 year old crush but a grown woman’s crush. Or what I thought a grown woman’s crush would be. My nerves tickled down my spine to the endings in my fingers, toes and pelvic muscles. I was nervous and refused to show it. Anyhow, he was the one, today and my thumping heart told me so. I approached him.
Next thing I knew I was graduating college and off to Europe. My friend Tammy and I went on our way traveling around in our fur vest we made from road kill and long hippy hair on the back of motorcycles. The army service men were great but the hippies were better. Then there he was again this time full grown and the sight of him made my body flush with emotion. Or at least lust of the memory I held in my heart all these years. I hopped in the car and off we went for the ride of my life. Literally. I was found 20 feet from the car thrown for my life and resting in a bed of 3 feet grass. On the reverse of my magnificent survival mister wonderful was pinned in the car. The steering wheel controlled our freedom and the end of his life. My stay in wonderful Europe abruptly ended. After a long stay a French hospital I was grudgingly home on my way home.
I would have stayed but couldn’t. There was something missing. Something unexplained about why my life had been taken on a dramatic turn. This is why I had to find out why I ended up in a field and my life crush was sent home in a casket.
Next thing I knew I was graduating college and off to Europe. My friend Tammy and I went on our way traveling around in our fur vest we made from road kill and long hippy hair on the back of motorcycles. The army service men were great but the hippies were better. Then there he was again this time full grown and the sight of him made my body flush with emotion. Or at least lust of the memory I held in my heart all these years. I hopped in the car and off we went for the ride of my life. Literally. I was found 20 feet from the car thrown for my life and resting in a bed of 3 feet grass. On the reverse of my magnificent survival mister wonderful was pinned in the car. The steering wheel controlled our freedom and the end of his life. My stay in wonderful Europe abruptly ended. After a long stay a French hospital I was grudgingly home on my way home.
I would have stayed but couldn’t. There was something missing. Something unexplained about why my life had been taken on a dramatic turn. This is why I had to find out why I ended up in a field and my life crush was sent home in a casket.
Monday, September 17, 2007
The best friends loss
Cee had been married much longer than I and had wanted to be a mother long before I. She had tried and tried to conceive. She watched as I had became pregnant with ease and hated every moment. She would tease that we were meant to be in reverse rolls. Although we both knew it could not be possible. She wanted to be a mother first and foremost, yet her beauty and physical nature took her another path. I, on the other hand, wanted to spend my days analyzing and finding error in the corporate infrastructure. Then make my name in lobbying for nationwide change. She went and had invietro fertilization and failed, yet again. She gave one last try and her weary body hung on to one egg. The egg was the strongest of the bunch. Yet still lacked in the strength of mine. She made it though 8 ½ months of agonizing nausea, rampant and continuous hives and four months of bed rest.
At four in the morning I awoke in a start, shaken from what sounded like a freight train on my bedside table. I felt for the intruder and came across my cell phone buzzing frantically. I had meant to turn the phone off instead turning it to vibrate. I flipped the phone open and searched for the end with the ear piece. I found it by the screeching coming from the opposite end I was holding. After a moment of sorting what I was hearing I realized it was Cee. She was sobbing and screaming and breathless.
Her words rang out. “She’s not moving! She’s not breathing! She is warm but nothing, nothing is there. What, what do I do? Who do I call first? Oh, Zach is not here! Nowhere!”
I tried cutting in asking, “Cee, Cee! Who is not moving? What is going on? Where is Zack?”
She did not hear me and continued in her frenzy of words and questions. Throwing them out as if I were in her mind ready to catch her thoughts and throw back answers before she could ask the next.
Abruptly the rash outburst of questions ceased and I heard deep strained sobbs. She muttered, “She has to be dead.”
The phone went blank.
I waited for the dial tone before I closed the flip phone. My heart sank. What had just happened? Was it a dream? Was it my dream? Was that supposed to be me and my little girl is gone? The questions filled my head and nausea took over. I was on the race for sturdy ground when the phone vibrated again. I grabbed it flinging my body off the bed and waking my husband. Cee was on the receiving end. She somberly asked, “Do I call the police or the hospital first?”
I simply replied, “911 would be best.”
She hung up and I again held on to the phone waiting for the dial tone, hoping that I had been mistaken in what had just happened. At 1500 miles away I was helpless.
After a long silence, we said our sorrowful goodbyes and hung up the phone. I cried deep within my soul, remembering the painful loss I had felt so many years ago. I thought I would be over it by now. How could I feel as if I were dying all over again?
The tears reddened my eyes and traveled the same path down my cheeks they had so many times before. The salt ran into my mouth as I muttered, “why, why!!”
Why does she have to experience the same pain? Why does everyone in my life fail at the same rate as I? After crying late into the night I lay my somnolent head and drained body down on to the bed that welcomed me with comfort. I am crying for her pain and mine. I ached, my eyes burned and my throat was coarse, I had run out of tears.
At four in the morning I awoke in a start, shaken from what sounded like a freight train on my bedside table. I felt for the intruder and came across my cell phone buzzing frantically. I had meant to turn the phone off instead turning it to vibrate. I flipped the phone open and searched for the end with the ear piece. I found it by the screeching coming from the opposite end I was holding. After a moment of sorting what I was hearing I realized it was Cee. She was sobbing and screaming and breathless.
Her words rang out. “She’s not moving! She’s not breathing! She is warm but nothing, nothing is there. What, what do I do? Who do I call first? Oh, Zach is not here! Nowhere!”
I tried cutting in asking, “Cee, Cee! Who is not moving? What is going on? Where is Zack?”
She did not hear me and continued in her frenzy of words and questions. Throwing them out as if I were in her mind ready to catch her thoughts and throw back answers before she could ask the next.
Abruptly the rash outburst of questions ceased and I heard deep strained sobbs. She muttered, “She has to be dead.”
The phone went blank.
I waited for the dial tone before I closed the flip phone. My heart sank. What had just happened? Was it a dream? Was it my dream? Was that supposed to be me and my little girl is gone? The questions filled my head and nausea took over. I was on the race for sturdy ground when the phone vibrated again. I grabbed it flinging my body off the bed and waking my husband. Cee was on the receiving end. She somberly asked, “Do I call the police or the hospital first?”
I simply replied, “911 would be best.”
She hung up and I again held on to the phone waiting for the dial tone, hoping that I had been mistaken in what had just happened. At 1500 miles away I was helpless.
After a long silence, we said our sorrowful goodbyes and hung up the phone. I cried deep within my soul, remembering the painful loss I had felt so many years ago. I thought I would be over it by now. How could I feel as if I were dying all over again?
The tears reddened my eyes and traveled the same path down my cheeks they had so many times before. The salt ran into my mouth as I muttered, “why, why!!”
Why does she have to experience the same pain? Why does everyone in my life fail at the same rate as I? After crying late into the night I lay my somnolent head and drained body down on to the bed that welcomed me with comfort. I am crying for her pain and mine. I ached, my eyes burned and my throat was coarse, I had run out of tears.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
What do you think? It is a VERY rough start
Postpartum
How is it that an angelic smile like hers can create such dark and unsettling feelings inside the very soul that brought her to this Earth? This daughter of mine is here for good and I despise it. She came at the wrong time, with the wrong personality and just plain bad timing.
Here it is plain and simple, being a mother is a gift from God and the hardest gift to learn to appreciate. Let me tell you my story of how I came to appreciate this gift. It takes more then a simple smile, sweet cry, poopy diaper or rash of postpartum depression to learn to appreciate a gift this long lasting. Here is the truth of how I grew to love, respect and cherish my daughter.
Ah, the morning woke me with a sweet sound of wind rushing the curtains, a chill in the air kept me comfortable under the down comforter and I was at peace. I had lost myself in this serene morning. My thoughts drifted through my “to do” list and the yoga moves I would start my day with. I was at peace.
A screech jerked my from my perfect start and my heart started pounding. I bounded from my bed cold and shaken. I was instantly disoriented and scrambled around looking for the piercing sound. It was a baby cry but why this early. It was the crack of dawn. Who could be to horrid to wreck this perfect morning!
I open the door the room next to mine and found the sound. It was a baby! It was mine and it was 1 month old and screeching like a banshee. How brutal and sudden this was. I had completely forgotten about the flabby stomach muscles. In my perfect morning dream I had a flat stomach and eight hours of sleep. Welcome to my world.
How is it that an angelic smile like hers can create such dark and unsettling feelings inside the very soul that brought her to this Earth? This daughter of mine is here for good and I despise it. She came at the wrong time, with the wrong personality and just plain bad timing.
Here it is plain and simple, being a mother is a gift from God and the hardest gift to learn to appreciate. Let me tell you my story of how I came to appreciate this gift. It takes more then a simple smile, sweet cry, poopy diaper or rash of postpartum depression to learn to appreciate a gift this long lasting. Here is the truth of how I grew to love, respect and cherish my daughter.
Ah, the morning woke me with a sweet sound of wind rushing the curtains, a chill in the air kept me comfortable under the down comforter and I was at peace. I had lost myself in this serene morning. My thoughts drifted through my “to do” list and the yoga moves I would start my day with. I was at peace.
A screech jerked my from my perfect start and my heart started pounding. I bounded from my bed cold and shaken. I was instantly disoriented and scrambled around looking for the piercing sound. It was a baby cry but why this early. It was the crack of dawn. Who could be to horrid to wreck this perfect morning!
I open the door the room next to mine and found the sound. It was a baby! It was mine and it was 1 month old and screeching like a banshee. How brutal and sudden this was. I had completely forgotten about the flabby stomach muscles. In my perfect morning dream I had a flat stomach and eight hours of sleep. Welcome to my world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
