Notes From A Broken Heart

Letter from Orlando I got the surprise of my life this evening.  One of the daughters of my best friend from Orlando had found her Mom's misplaced cell phone and was using it to call me. A bolt out of the blue, this call certainly caught me off guard. The young lady, it turns out, actually sent  me the equivalent of what guys in the Military called, "A letter from home." Good News!  For many of us, a watermelon also translates into  a letter from home. Yes, the green or green-striped fruit that many of us from the South consider a delicacy.  Allie's daughter explained that she was calling because in looking through an old purse, she had stumbled up on her Mom's cell phone.  Continuing through a voice clogged with tears, she described nursing her Mom during a very difficult, tragic illness.  She had just about fallen apart while mourning the inconsolable loss of "Mama" over the previous 18 months.  Her mother's well-meaning friends could no

“Lord, Jesus, can I have this talk with You? Lord, Jesus,it won’t be long before I’m through.   Lord, Jesus, I got to tell about my cares.   Lord, Jesus, all the burdens that I bear.   Lord, Jesus, although the storms and billows roll.   Lord, Jesus, You’ve been a comfort to my soul.   Lord, Jesus, I just have to have this talk with you.   My Lordy, this talk with You.” Those lyrics bring back memories of my Mom.  It was a song that she sang when things got particularly rough.  She didn’t complain about being a “second class citizen” in her own home, probably because she did not viscerally acknowledge it.  The man was the head of the household and that was that. Thank You, Jesus, times have changed! My parents were products of the Great Depression when things could be viewed only against the “haves” and the “have nots,” when life at best, offered little more than a  hardscrabble gamble. Not that Mother gambled the word,“bet,” never escaped her though

 Because the feelings are so nuanced, often my anger at God over the death of my Daughter surprises me, catches me off guard. I'm totally unprepared for the rush of emotions that threatens to drown me and sabotage whatever activity I was in the midst of. Just as critically,  I'm the product of parents who didn't dare question God His decisions.  "Thou will be done," period. I've read too many Old Testament declarations that remind me His ways are not my ways; His thoughts are not my thoughts.  However, my Daughter's transition triggers the memory of my Grandson's demise some twenty years earlier. Oh, the shock of it! We had put him in bed at 8:30 Saturday night after reading his favorite bedtime story, "It Isn't Easy Being a Bunny."  His crib faced east.  He had his pacifier,  pillow, and enough muted light to ease him into sweet dreams.  He knew when he heard, "Sweet dreams," sleep was imminent.  When I woke early Sun

I’m back!!! The last time I put “pen to paper” was in mid-October 2018.  If I hadn’t lived through a crisis (of my own making?) I wouldn’t believe it,myself.  I’m back, with more of the fervor and energy that surely had seeped out of me over a incredibly long period of time.What happened? Lots.  Much too much to describe in this “first,” new blog of 2019. I’ll tell it all in subsequent “notesfromabrokenheart.blogspot.com.” In a nutshell, I now realize that while I had been grieving for some time, somehow, I had convinced myself that I had gotten over the devastating loss of Courtney, my precious daughter, who had died suddenly, quickly, without warning, April 9, 2017. Most would agree that the mind is incredible  It’s active, of course. It stimulates many thoughts and emotions akin to the description of Superman:  “Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than locomotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound…”  It stores more than the most