I am from a purple bike with silver streamers, from McDonald’s hamburgers for 25 cents and cheese pizzas because we didn’t know there were more options.

I am from flat farmland with high mountains in the distance, from the smell of rich dirt on the wind.

I am from the mosquitos biting at twilight and the sweet smell of warm tomatoes on the side of the road.

I am from Grasshopper pie on your birthday, from Clifton and Magdalene and Ward and Helen.

From “work first, play later” and smiling eyes.

I am from dozing on Momma’s shoulder while I listened to the pastor. Now I’m the Momma – same pastor.

I’m from Northern California Ag land, walnuts and Grandpa’s garden vegetables.

From the coffee can aroma quelling my naseua in the backseat, sucking the sea salt out of my hair after a day at Dillon’s Beach, and making s’mores at the cabin.

I am from old photo albums – black pages and white spidery letting. I am from rolls and rolls of old movies with no sound.
I am from Grandma’s attic.

I received this via an email list I’m on for grieving parents. It was so uplifting to me today!

I know you’re feeling sad today

because I had to go.

I know you have so many things

that remind you of me so.

And though you cry as you recall

the times you spent with me.

I know your pain would turn to joy

if only you could see.

I’m in Heaven with Jesus now.

We laugh, we sing, we play.

He holds me gently in His arms.

I know no pain today.

And though we’re apart a little while,

Jesus has promised me

He’ll someday bring YOU here

where we’ll live for eternity.

by Lisa Robertson

I can feel the blanket covering me…

it affects everything I hear…

everything I say…

everything I see.

The blanket makes it hard

for me to enjoy life…

hard for me to care…

hard to do the simplest things.

There are times I feel that

I will be able to get out

from under the blanket,

but then I realize there

are times I don’t want to.

Somedays it’s too hard

to go on…

to enjoy life…

to care.

Those days I pull

my blanket over my head

and let the tears flow.

This is one of those days.

Copyright, 2003 – 2006.  Amy Osborn

This is a poem I wrote awhile ago…and then put aside. But it’s as true today as it was then. Wonder if it will always be true?

My hands ache to touch your soft skin

My arms ache to hold you

My lips ache to kiss you

My mouth aches to blow your downy soft hair

My nose aches to smell your powdery fresh scent

My ears ache to hear your cry

My feet ache to move in response to that cry

My fingers ache to feel yours wrapped around them again

My breasts ache to give life again

My eyes ache to look into yours and see myself

My heart aches

I ache