The clock is incessant in its reminder that time is slipping away from me. BANG! Seconds are ticking by. BANG! Each one as jolting as the shots ringing out in the solemnity of that day so long ago. BANG! Yet they don’t stop at 21. BANG! They keep on keeping on. BANG! My blood pressure rises with each one. BANG! My pulse races. BANG! Will my heart burst from chest? BANG!
I hear voices around me, but they are like distant murmurs in the echoes of that clock. I don’t know who they are. I don’t know who has come to say goodbye. In spite of them, I feel so alone in this darkness. My husband waits for me, I’m sure of it. But I’m afraid. This is not a journey I’ve been on before. I don’t know what to expect. I want to join him. But I’m afraid. Was he afraid, too?
Wait, why do I not hear the clock? Where did the murmuring voices go?
“Who are you?” A beautiful being stands before me, wrapping me in light. More specifically, I wonder how it is that I am able to see. I feel the warm touch of a hand to my head.
Time stands still.
“Do not be afraid.”
Written in response to an excerpt of the lyrics from Santana’s and Everlast’s “Put Your Lights On” (songwriters: ERIK SCHRODY © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc):
There’s an angel, with a hand on my head
She say I’ve got nothing to fear
Shared at Flashy Fiction Friday
Picking out the family Christmas tree hadn’t been the same since Catherine passed away. She was the best at finding just the right one. Truth be told, he knew he was the muscle of the pair—it was she who had the eye for design. To him, they all looked the same!
That first year, James and Catherine’s son and his family made the trek home from Miami to try to help bring some holiday cheer to the now-quiet home. And he appreciated their effort – but it just wasn’t the same. Robbie picked the first tree he came to and insisted it was the one Mom would have chosen—James knew it was more because his son had become too accustomed to the warm beaches, to stay too long in the Colorado cold.
As the years passed, Robbie’s visits became fewer as his growing family got busier. And James found himself standing alone among the evergreens, hatchet in hand, missing the love of his life. Being in the mountains with Catherine were some of his best memories of their time together. He could almost see her excitedly darting from tree to tree, talking about how many more lights she planned to add to their tree that year.
James wasn’t entirely certain of how much time had passed before he realized it had been snowing. The cold air stung the corners of his eyes, where tears had formed. Blinking and squinting, he didn’t know if he could trust what he was seeing. It looked as if ALL of the trees in front of him were filled with lights.
Catherine had just sent James a gift from heaven. The beauty of the snow-covered trees, filled with more light than he’d felt or seen since Catherine’s death, gave him new inspiration. Instead of his annual trek with a hatchet to take down a tree, he returned to that spot each year with cords and generators and more and more lights, as a gift back to Catherine.
Shared at Flashy Fiction Friday
HOW I MISS HIM
Gone five years.
Seems like yesterday,
I want–just one more time–to
say, “I love you, Dad.”
Shared at Poetic Asides for PAD 2015 – Day 10: “How (blank)”
** in memory of my dad, whose birthday was this week **
SINCE I SAW YOU LAST
Years have passed
since I saw you last;
a day goes
by that I don’t think about
how much I love you.
I see you
in Redbud blossoms,
a wren’s nest,
in the stormy clouds that bring
the Spring time showers.
is just around the
fourth one to
be celebrated without
you. I miss you, Dad.
Written for Poetic Asides April 2014 Poem-A-Day Challenge DAY 4: “Since [ blank ] “
HER NEVERENDING STORY
Meeting him was like reading
a favorite, familiar book; each page
to be savored because she loved the story
She finally loved her story.
She finally loved where each page
was taking her. His words led her
on a path
of anticipating the story’s end.
She finally started to believe her story
would have a happy ending. Until
The best chapters, those yet to come,
were ripped from the book, she held
a shredded prized possession.
She felt lost,
like someone with no pages to turn,
someone with no tomorrows,
someone whose story has
Written for Poetic Asides Prompt #218: Chapter. Posted for day 67 in 100 Days of Spring – 2013.