Notes From A Broken Heart

"Isn't he lovely Isn't he wonderful Isn't he precious Less than one minute old." I took license to change pronouns---"he" for "she"---to the love lyrics Stevie Wonder penned about "Ayisha," his firstborn daughter.  I too was in the operating theater when my first grandson entered this earth-plane.  I held him tightly as a nurse took us to the newborn nursery wing.  And while singer Roberta Flack spoke to an adult paramour, her sentiments also described this same Grandson: "The first time ever I saw your face I thought the sun rose in your eyes, And the moon and the stars Were gifts you gave To the dark and the endless sky." Finally, I am ready to "tell all" about my First Love. Mystery cloaked everything.  Its dramatic cachet centered on when the arrival would occur, including the guesstimated month and date.  I knew nothing of  his existence until my older, teen-aged Daughter entered h

How do I speak in a situation when my opinion has not been requested? In truth, you don't know me and I don't know you.  Not really.  However, I am an Observer.  I see things, not always with perfect visual acuity, but I see what I see.  I see you, precious young woman,   and your behavior captures  my attention.   Not only do I see you, I see what you don't say.   Nonverbal, but reverberating like a cannon.   You could be my daughter, niece, cousin, neighbor, or pew-sharer. What gives me the right to offer advice to someone when two generations separate us? Not to mention culture, values, and beliefs that tend to further divide us? Do we speak enough of the same language for true communion to ignite?   Should I care or should I care but keep it to myself?   Will I just be politely dismissed as an "old-fashioned busybody?" (I'm really not that old-fashioned!) "What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up Like a raisin in the sun? Or f

Procrastinator.  That's not the noun I'd prefer to self-describe.  Not me! For years, I saw myself as a direct resolute decision maker. Never let it be said that a nyone ever had to wait on me. to do my part.  No grass grew underfoot.  No way, Jose! For the most part, my assessment proved true, as long as it involved me in relation to others. Sadly, when forced to turn the spotlight on myself,  when I could no longer look through a mirror dimly, a different image emerged.  One where brutal honesty reluctantly prevailed.  What a blow to self esteem! To train the mirror of truth on moi,  bereft of inane platitudes and well-formed distortions, humbled me greatly. Formidable grief and prolonged mourning, in truth, precipitated an intense and unparalleled scrutiny. Unaware at first, the process really began with Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS) that swiftly swooped away the life of Philip, my toddler grandson.  Angels transported him from earth to glory during a night in

Let's face it head on: We all grieve.  Not just the loss of a loved one, an estranged one, or the loss of love, real or imagined.  A loyal pet---cat, dog, gerbil, parakeet, or even a goldfish.  A well-remembered childhood, a dismaying youth, an season buried too long ago to remember.  An disconcerting divorce, multiple marriages and dissolutions, relationships, colleagues, acquaintances, a BFF---myriad losses and accompanying sorrow that glue themselves to our very souls! We all grieve.  Even when we don't realize it, don't know how to face or handle it, feel we deserve it, or don't deserve it,  we grieve.  Sometimes, remorselessly, consciously, subconsciously, ashamedly, unabashedly, we grieve.  We need help, but don't know how to ask for it, or ask but don't get it---not because the other  person appears mean-spirited, self-centered, or uncaring.  Sometimes,we think we no longer need it. But could it be that we do not know how to help, or even ho