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I went to the cemetery yesterday to visit my mother’s grave before heading to work in Boston.
It was a beautiful day; the sun was brilliant, nary a cloud in the indigo sky, a slight warm breeze.
Suffice to say, I had a sentimental moment.
Maybe it was the fact that my father may not be here next Mother’s Day, maybe it was the bittersweet feeling I got driving through my old neighborhood.
I’m not really sure.
In my mind’s eye, I could see myself as a child running through the backyards of my youth without a care in the world.
For some reason I was missing my mother more this year than any previous one.
Couldn’t put my finger on it but the longing was undeniable, inescapable.
I arrived at the cemetery and walked up to her grave, placing a white rose on the cold granite stone bench bearing her name and I whispered a prayer, a Hail Mary.
I sat alone and talked to the empty cemetery as if she was sitting right next to me, and maybe she was.
I asked questions about my life that currently had no answers; dark fears and unfulfilled dreams.
A few tears fell to the ground watering the place where she lay but oddly enough they weren’t sad tears.
With every teardrop that fell, the better I felt.
That was my mother’s way: to make the sunshine come impossibly through the rain.
I kissed the palm of my hand and touched her name before leaving feeling much better than when I arrived.
I now know that she was there, somehow.
Later that day, I received an email from my twin sister, m~ , with ‘Mom’in the subject box.
I knew she would be visiting the cemetery later that day and thought the email would mention that she saw the white rose and scribbled note I’d left hours earlier.
Her email mentioned that exact thing.
She also mentioned that for some reason she was missing Mom more this year than usual though she didn’t quite know why.
It was another affirmation that we will always be connected, always be twins.
We experienced the same emotional experience several hours apart.
I considered it a small gift sent down from my mother.
Knowing her as I did, she’d have it no other way.
Three beautiful girls
Hearts that you hold in your hands
Love you forever . . .
The world would be so much less without you in it, for the girls and for me
We love you dearly.
You are the heart of our family. Period. Amen.
Happy Mother’s Day.
Lord knows, you deserve a special day.
I’ve thought about this place for a long time.
Had dreams about it actually.
When I began blogging back in February of 2005, I remember wanting to create a place of safe harbour for my words and thoughts; such delicate things.
I wanted it to be a place like no other.
I eventually realized that would be hard to do because of the limiting nature of platforms like Blogspot and Wordpress.com.
While they were good in their own right, my options were a bit limited.
I look at my blog tonight and to be honest, I am gobsmacked.
It’s so damn beautiful.
My life has had many wonderful twists and turns since that tentative first post way back when.
I thank God I found the intestinal fortitude to finally hit the ‘publish’ button.
My life hasn’t been quite the same since.
What you see before you is the culmination of a writer’s dream, a place I can call my own.
The writing won’t change but the walls are much prettier to look at, don’t you think?
I thank you for visiting and hope you’ve changed that URL on your blogroll.
There’s more work to be done here but I believe this is a respectable start.
Before I let you cruise around the joint, some thank you’s are in order.
I’ll try not to make this sound like I’m accepting an Academy Award but . . .
My deepest thanks and gratitude to Moe, she wanted this for me as much as I did for myself.
She is singlehandedly responsible for installing the Wordpress.org software (on a server somewhere in Arizona), uploading countless themes, plugins and all the bells and whistles that make this blog sing.
The webhosting and my own domain were an early Christmas present from her and Mark, Anonypop.
(thanks, mate) Maureen, you are a beautiful and brilliant star that was destined to find your way into my night sky.
I’ll never be able to thank you enough.
Maybe someday while drinking beer and eating lobster on Cape Cod.
Thanks toKelly, for helping to render the CSS code in order to make this blog look the way it does.
To me, reading CSS is like Chinese Arithmetic, it just doesn’t make any sense.
But Kel knows her stuff. Brilliant.
And, she is the sole reason Amum and I met.
I call meeting Kel a Godwink. I call knowing Kel a Godsend.
Thanks, kiddo.
Bloody good job.
Thanks to Annie for believing in me even when I stopped believing in myself.
You are a true friend, a great poet, writer and an absolute sweetheart to boot.
Evyl, for being there.
You have been with me from the very beginning of this blogging thing.
You have taught me that as bad as life can get, you still have to laugh.
You rock Mr.Mac
To my wife, Pamela, who gives me the time and space I need to write and maintain a site such as this.
It’s time consuming as any decent blogger knows.
Her patience is a virtue, her encouragement and love are virtually endless.
Am I lucky or what?
And lastly to my mother, the reason I began writing in the first place.
This one’s for you, Mom.
Welcome to the new Smoke and Mirrors, folks.
Don’t forget to change that URL . . .
And thanks for the visit.
Looks like I’ll be around for a little while . . .
She withers
head bent, possibly in prayer
longing for an oasis, a distant mirage in her thirsty mind
She cries
and tears fall, like raindrops,
disappearing into an arid, chocolate-coloured soil
She sleeps
while impossible clouds form, from some silent and sacred place
drenching the parched earth with a hope
the Sun shines
and the water of life seeps into her dreams
filling the soul with good things; understanding words,
compassionate whispers, small prayers
She rises
the warmth of the Sun on her face
surrounded by lush lavender, butter yellows, smooth pinks and
the tender hands of some unknown but tender Gardener
She feels enough love to grow on forever
And she does . . .
~m
~ thanks to my deepest inspiration for this post
I offer my deepest gratitude for her compassion and unending thoughtfulness. She’s quite the Gardener
Is it possible that angels walk among us?
I’ve never given serious thought to that question before but I’m beginning to think that the possibility actually exists.
I believe I may have one.
I’m mentioning names here or whether it’s a man or a woman.
It doesn’t really matter, does it?
I will clarify one issue by saying that if you’re on my blogroll, it’s definitely not you.
Don’t take it personally; you are all angels to me in some sense of the word.
There is a person in my life right now that almost fills my own personal notion of an angel.
A George Burns?
God, no.
I think I may be losing it
It’s comes down to a feeling I get when this person asks how I’m doing.
I answer this person honestly, something I don’t usually do with anyone aside from my wife (and yes, she is one of my favorite angels).
The conversation between this ‘angel’ and me is nothing weird or intrusive, it just is.
But it has a depth to it that I just can’t explain.
Just thinking a little bit more about this than usual today, I guess.
I checked my Gmail tonight and received a personal message from a Smoke and Mirrors reader. (so many out there, huh?)
I got a chill when I read the e-mail’s title:Angel’s Poem A God wink?
Who knows?
Maybe my angel does . . .
Had to brighten things up around here.
There’s a friend of mine that sent me a link to a YouTube video last week.
I laughed so hard upon discovering it was all performed by him.
His name is Doug and he’s a dear friend of mine from way back when
(one of the best drummers I’ve ever had the pleasure to play with as well)
He could always get me going with his impersonation of an old Jewish man (ala Billy Crystal)
Watch the video.
I’m still laughing.
If he ever gets famous, remember, you saw it here.
My sister and I have noticed some changes in our father.
Whenever we talk to him about ‘old times’ (instead of just sitting there staring vacantly out the window) his eyes fill with tears. He’s not totally crying but something is definitely going on.
We wonder what’s really going through his mind?
It was this thought and some help from the band “Tears for Fears” that are responsible for the inspiration behind this post.
I didn’t plan on posting tonight but sometimes you just have to let some of your writing go.
the Size of Sorrow
Carbon-copy days
Stain my mimeographed life
Wondering if today is some strange and future tomorrow
Time meanders away
some perpetual 36-hour day
But what is the size of sorrow?
a Fool on the hill
a sad silhouette of your absence
what remains breaks the heart of the borrow
Tomorrow is near
like an invisible tear
I’m wondering what is the size of your sorrow?
