Wednesday, March 14, 2018


She took one last look around the house.

It looked bare and unloved now without all the little bits and pieces that dominated the rooms, much like her grandmother's personality had dominated her childhood.

A harsh, cold woman who didn't see a need for empathy or compassion.

Those things only made you weak.

Yet some nights she would wake to hear the strains of Beethoven or Strauss floating through dark and she'd sneak down the stairs to watch as her grandmother sat at the piano.

Alone in the dark with only the light of the moon shinning through the windows, lost in the music she was making.

This soft and tender side her grandmother never let anyone see.

This facade, this side of herself her grandmother kept hidden.

She would never understand why...

Thursday, March 8, 2018



What is left is a faded blue puppy given to him by a volunteer on one of his too frequent stays in the hospital, several small wooden trucks, a Snoopy pillow case and boxes of photographs.

Over the years you wait for the pain go away but it never does.

It just changes.

It shifts from day to day and year to year and becomes something different, sometimes better sometimes worse.

And you manage to get through the least most of the time.

You hold on tight and breath and even though you are not the most religious person in the world, you pray a lot.

And if you are very lucky you make it through to the moments when you remember things without the pain and you smile...and then you cry again and that's okay.

For Brandon

Saturday, March 3, 2018


She was only fourteen.

I listened as all the pain and frustration came pouring out of her.

Time spent trying to hold it all back had made it something thick and black and choking.

I could hear the desperation in her words.

My soul is weary and raw, she said.

Her eyes looked tired and haunted.

Years of anguish had taken its toll.

She wasn't crying because she wasn't strong.

She was crying because she'd had to be strong for so long.

Saturday, February 24, 2018


They hadn’t drawn him wide enough to add a heart.

He was a stick figure and thus had no depth or width

He was merely a doodle in the margin of someone’s imagination.

But Oliver wanted so badly to be a real boy.

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

She wears silver bangles...

It's the sound they make that announces she's in the room.

She uses her hands to punctuate her words as she speaks and the bracelets dance around on her wrists.

I listen as she talks and the bracelets tinkle.

I close my eyes and remember my childhood and the sound of the wind chimes hanging from my grandmothers back porch.

Friday, February 16, 2018

Ode to childhood...

It was in the time before the wheel chair.

Things were still possible and dreams could still come true.

Fairy tales still had happy endings and the world made sense.

It was a time of innocence and bliss.

Then came the doctors and hospitals and fear.

And childhood was no more, replaced by heartbreak and loss.

And the dreams were now nightmares and the stories had no happy
endings and innocence no longer applied...