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Did He Cry

Thursday, February 13, 2020

I wonder how he felt that day or if he even knew
As he went to bed that night knowing he would die
Did he turn to look around, take one last glance and cry

Resolutely he went from his living room to bed
Knowing those remaining steps would surely be his last
Did he turn to look around, take one last glance and cry

When he sat atop his bed and began to remove his shoes
Did he feel the tightness and struggle to take a breath
Did he glance to the Heavens, scream out to God and cry

Did his soul depart before he hit the floor
Or did he lie aware and gasp for air once more
Did he think of seeing her soon and begin to cry

The only thing for certain is that night he did die
Now he's with the ones he loves, those that went before
He rejoices with his grandkids, his wife by his side 

Today his daughter keeps memories buried deep inside
When she thinks about him now she calls to God and cries


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Death Is Too Good For Him

Sunday, April 28, 2019

As I sat working on the computer the TV was on. Elizabeth Vargas was interviewing the girls that were sexually assaulted by the team doctor. He, well, he got what he deserved, if there is even justice for what he did.

Another doctor, however, did not, that I know of. While I was watching the show feelings of rage, anger, and betrayal bubbled to the surface. Something, I can't recall now, triggered situations I thought I had dealt with in therapy and it would never come up again.

The doctor my parents sent us to when we were kids was a bit more than "friendly," with me. It seems I was around 11 when it all began. You see, my parents didn't think things like that happened, especially with a doctor that was also the town's baseball team doctor. They thought I was safe.

What I endurefd for the next 7 years was nothing short of horrific. I looked him up, was he still alive? It seems he died a few months ago. That didn't help. There were stories of what a great man he was. Perhaps he was, outside of his office. However, I know the man for what he was.

My feelings were at the boiling point. I wanted to run just like I have most of my life. I've wanted to run from the people that trust, for they are the ones that are the least suspected. I don't want to use the word "hate," possibly disdain, disgust, helplessness, anger, and gulit. Yes guilt.

Reasonably I know there was nothing I could have done. After all he was one of the towns most respected doctors. How would anyone believe a little girl or the teenager I grew into.

I don't know what to feel. My heart is pounding, my head is about to split, I'm fighting off an anxiety attack. It's as if I was back in that examining room, helpless and alone. The memories won't stop, no matter how much I medicate myself, alone in my room but I'm not alone, I'm haunted by the trusted doctor.

He got off easy. Death was far to good for what he deserved.


There Was A Boy

Monday, April 22, 2019

There once was a boy that held the key to my heart. He's now a man, the key he still holds.

The bond we share cannot be broken. It's been tried, it's been put to the test.

The boy with the dimple and the sparkling eyes is now taller than I and greatly missed.

There soon will be a day the miles will become inches as we embrace and know what the other is thinking, just as before.

There are bonds in life that cannot be severed. This is one of those connections that will never fade, only grow stronger than ever, if possible, through the years to come.

We share the same thoughts and aspirations. From miles apart our thinking seems to be united.

This evening I was surprised with a message. It was a message I had been thinking of as well.

The realization that we had been having the same thoughts and plan of action was mind blowing.

Years before when he was a little sprite of a boy we would finish each others sentences, say the same thing at the same time.

He's my kindred spirit. He is my grandson. 


Online Shopping Spree Surprise ��


Cathartic Coercion

Thursday, April 11, 2019

It's been months, more like years, since I've sat in bed, my laptop resting atop down comforters and blankets, with the intention of writing anything of substance.

The English language has always been something I've enjoyed. Assembling syllables, words, sentences, and paragraphs, into something more than just letters appearing on a screen has always been a passion of mine.

To me it's a cathartic coercion when I'm able to achieve a melodic passage by giving my thoughts a life of their own in which the reader can engage with all of their senses.

For lack of a better term, I've been on hiatus. I feel my writing is rusty at best.

However, with encouragement from a friend, and the passage of time sufficient to quell the chaotic confusion I had been thrown into, some of my own doing and some dealt by the hands of cavalier diagnosticians, I now feel the freedom to allow my thoughts to emerge once more.

My mind is at ease and I feel no need to censor my ideas, my reasoning, or my perceptions. I have allowed myself to be freed from the confinement I once endured.

I have tamed the inner demons that once haunted me. I can now the celebrate multifaceted creation I am. I no longer feel the need to flee. I have been liberated and polished by the pressure that once surrounded me. I can now go forth smiling with the knowledge I was never destroyed.

My Creator kept me shielded from the one that was intent on incinerating my inner most being. I had to be broken, broken enough to allow my Maker to rebuild me into the woman He had intended for me to be from the beginning of time.


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