Notes From A Broken Heart

A seminal question roused me from several days of writing inertia.  Typically,  only a  day separates one piece from the next.  At other times, laziness, plain laziness, may paralyze me for two days at the most.  But there it was; almost a week had elapsed and nothing...nothing. Like a lightning bolt, the thought flashed off and on.  When was the last time I laughed? Really laughed.   Not a polite sound that mimics mirth. A chuckle? Giggle? Guffaw? None of them, certainly no laughing until my sides hurt.  Hmm. Has it been longer than a year? Two years? Yes and yes.  Of course, I knew the "why" of the laughter famine.    I'd grown accustomed to wearing the somber face of grief.  Not consciously, of course.  Evidently,  the grimace that contorted my face following Courtney's death had settled into grimness  Somber.   Glum.  Humorless.  Yet, I didn't carry vivacious expressions ...

"Not my brother, nor my sister, but it's me, O Lord, Standin' in the need of prayer; Not my brother, nor my sister, but it's me, O Lord, Standin' in the need of prayer. It's me, It's me,  it's me, O Lord, Standin' in the need of prayer; It's me, It's me, it's me, O Lord Standin' in the need of prayer.  Escaping from a made-up world took a long time! I avoided both the mundane and esoteric things that made up my life.   In fact, I became an expert at avoiding life. "Manana, Manana" became my mantra.  I just wasn't capable of facing the hard truths, so I escaped into the world peopled with contrived characters.  Why has it taken this long?  Geez! A raft of reasons floats by, buoyed by time, situation, and circumstance.  Ignorance (didn't know any better); fears (never to see the light of day because they may be worse than I'd even imagined); cowardice (not in a keep-a-stiff-upper-lip-culture1), and a ...

"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 i...

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 fr...

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 kno...

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord" (Isaiah 55:8). I am completely and totally aware of God's Omnipotence, Omniscience, and Omnipresence.  Totally.  Completely.  My forthcoming question emanates from the deep wellspring of my faith, hope, and trust that hearkens back to childhood.  Simply, have Velma, my Mother, and Courtney, my daughter,  met in Heaven yet?   (Granny and Cocoa-Puff).  Two decades after Mother succumbed and a little over two years since Courtney departed earth's dimensions, I can no longer avoid wondering. While it may may be viewed as curious, even macabre by many, finally I can face it.  "When our work here is done and the life crown is won, And our troubles and trials are o'er, All our sorrow will end, and our voices will blend With the loved ones who've gone on before...In a land where we'll never grow old."   Eternal life.  Streets of gold, " I'm ...