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I hold this paper in my hand
my hand
My name is at the top
my name
and
in LARGE black letters
a word
one  single  word
like a stalker
Reminds me of the creepy boy
in 7th grade
following me in the halls
calling me at home
staring
at  me
this word
following   calling   staring
I want to scream at it to
GO AWAY
nine letters
Perhaps it shouldn’t bother me
many have walked this path before
this is my very first time
(June 2006)
by 
How do I begin this story? I’ve told it before. It doesn’t get easier.
I’ll start with a poem:
If I tell you
will you
fall to your knees
will you
like me
find your faceÂ
on the ground
becauseÂ
so quickly
we go
from standing
walking
to this
In the Spring, my sister was diagnosed with something called Lewy Body Dementia. This term was a mystery, to her and to us, her family. For a few years she had become increasingly forgetful, was experiencing lots of anxiety and just wasn’t herself. She was 56.
In the Summer, mom was told she had an incurable lung disease. She was 76.
And from a journal entry dated October 8th: “Something is very wrong in my body and I don’t know what it is.” I was 47. A few days later: “Two days after the biopsy. News comes. Not good news. Malignant. The word of my past is here again. In me.”
I will never forget telling my parents. Returning home I wrote: “Mom bit her lip to stem the tears…dad took the news like a physical blow.”
We, my family, had no idea what the next handful of years would bring, how excruciating it would all be. Maybe it’s a type of grace, the not knowing.Â
For me, it was a time of being stripped bare. Becoming raw. As a family, we grew close out of necessity and fear.Â
On December 13th, 2016, mom’s suffering ended.
On June 9th, 2017, I kissed my sister’s gaunt cheek for the final time.Â
I still frequently find myself wondering how we, the ones who remain, survived. Courage?
Another journal entry : ” I’m not sure what courage is. Is this it? This feels like No Choice. Does walking into it, facing it, make me courageous?”
by I love this post from Gratefulness.org
Please sign up for their daily email. It’s a great way to remember to be grateful.
by 
I love Fall!
For me this is a time of slowing down and listening inward.
I may be one of the few, but I enjoy the shorter daylight hours and the less intense pace.
I am also in the Fall of my life. Do I love it, this life-season? Sometimes, but honestly at times it feels like my best days are behind me.
AND, I’m open to learning to love the bright colors and paring down, the “aging with grace” and “acquiring wisdom”!
Aging, slower pace, paring down…none of these are things our culture is very comfortable with, so it does seem like an uphill climb.
As I watch the trees drop their leaves, I hope to be reminded that I can continue to drop more and more of what no longer serves me, be that beliefs, opinions, unkindness to myself and others, hurry or bitterness.
Here’s to letting go AND looking ahead with anticipation.
by I was in third grade when introduced to poetry and began spending as much time as possible in the library, reading as much verse as I could find. I was enchanted!
Maybe because this introduction hit me with such force or possibly because of the way my brain works, I often find that I think of poems in a Haiku format. It’s as if my brain is stuck on “5 syllables- 7 syllables- 5 syllables”. This happens especially when I am walking or hiking outdoors.
So, on that note, here are a few samples to honor my third grade teacher, Mrs. Kraft.
trees billow and roll
waves in this mountain ocean
green and green and green
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
from every rain
a field paints weed and flower
mouth canvas open
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
the young maple holds
its leaves after rain wind and
rain   like rebellion
by what does it mean
this time
this journey
where death
grasps me
by the wrist
is it
just a few steps
to be climbed after
I’m already
winded
from the
thousand
that came before
by years
sitting here naked
and exposed choosing
v u l n e r a b i l i t y
I pay you toÂ
LISTEN
gasping
I rip away skin
muscle
exposing what’s
inside
blood and emptiness
(you stifle a yawn behind your hand)
slowly
silently
I retrieve the shards of myself
that are strewnÂ
across the floor
and
opening my mOuth
I swallow them down
I stand and leave this place
she could not be helped they said
by   Â
don’t know
if I can
if I want to
my knees
bloody
my throat
raw
my heart
cold
because
you
do not
do
what you promise
and I
am tired
of asking
by