Tag Archives: loss

Birds of Spring


The love for spring and birds and all things beautiful prompted me to write this – the robin started it all and the progression to put the words to page ended up including thoughts about my mom. Both of us are spring babies and the appreciation she had for nature inspired me to follow paths where the wild things live. I am not brave. I fear death. Yet in my own way, I am an explorer and an adventurous soul. I am not sad. I am merely reflecting on beautiful thoughts that still bring tears.


RobinWe sat on the back deck under the umbrella and chatted. We cradled ceramic mugs adorned with images of birds. The hot tea warmed us and cool spring breezes washed over us like whispered conversation. We had grown comfortable with the sporadic comments and the pleasurable silence that punctuated our early Saturday morning visit. The sun was still to our right but would soon be to our backs as we sat in shade of the house. Bundled in large knit sweaters, we settled back in the canvas chairs, sipping green tea and warming our hands. Overhead, crisscrossing jet trails cut the wild blue yonder into slices of pie.

“Why do they have to mess up the beautiful sky?” she would ask. We always looked up watching for birds and small planes and whatever else the countryside might offer. I knew she loved the view from the deck at the back of her house. The jet trails were something we always noticed and talked about. It was something we often speculated about – was it weather related air current type stuff, or was it a conspiracy to create cloud when there was none, or was it just because it was what jets do at a high altitude. Whatever the reason, it would come to be my way of knowing she was always with me – perhaps, even her way of showing support wherever I might be and whatever I might be doing. The jet contrails and the birds of spring, both beautiful and meaningful in their own way, are a necessary part of how I was able to move forward without her.

Because of her love for nature and her little house in the country, I began to take more notice of those things around me that drew me to her. Yellow eyed daisies growing in white waves always remind me of her, because they grew wild in her yard and as the years went by there were more and more of them. I see every full moon and remember her calls to me, “Did you see the moon?” I watch for the geese and their return to the northern climes after a long migration. Then in the fall when they coo and swoop in large masses collecting their formations way up high amongst the clouds, I regret their leaving just as I regret hers.

Winter was beginning to be unbearable and the worry about her living alone is one thing that weighed as heavy as the snow on her little roof. She did not relish moving into the Park to be closer to the civilized world; it was not in her destiny to move into any kind of senior’s residence, either. The fates took care of that concern, although I would have shoveled her driveway forever and took care of her when the time came. It didn’t come, though. Her journey was not with that kind of finish.

This year I noticed the robins more and their activity around me. It seems there a few around who accompany me on my day. One makes its home in the eaves above my apartment window and you can hear it singing in the still early morning. One stopped for a picture on a post outside my cabin window while I was in Jasper and another hopped up to the truck for a picture while I sat in the parking lot at Miette Hot Springs. Yet another hopped closer and closer while I loaded the truck with books this past weekend.

Everyone deals with loss in different ways. Recognizing the little things we used to talk about and remembering the things she loved is how I am able to move forward. Writing these words helps, too – as I am able now to express them from my heart without pain tearing into them before I even have a chance to put them to the page. The test would be to read them out loud – although I am sure I could attempt it, one never knows how one’s emotions are going to interfere at any given time. The wound is deep and will never going to go away, but it is healed over, protected from outside exposure.


“Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.” ~ Langston Hughes




Filed under On Life, On Thinking, On Writing

Random Thoughts – Still the Same

Over the past few weeks, as many thoughts have crossed my mind as projects have crossed my desk. Of course, right up front – there is no end to the flurry of publishing activity as I work diligently to meet deadlines while prepping manuscripts to become books. There is excitement aloft! At times, I have to distance myself from the hype as it is easy to get all caught up in the partying when the project is not yet finished. They are all in varying stages of completion and, as I look forward, there is celebration ahead, even while focus is still the name of the game. I am looking forward to wine – perhaps, lots of it!


As we only now teeter on the brink of August, don’t blink – as it will soon soar deceptive and graceful toward September – it is harder to remain focused and not get frantic. I say deceptive because, in an instant, August has a tendency to disappear! I say graceful because it teases you and holds you with warmth and sunshine, all the while knowing you are soon going to fall. There is always a concern held within the depths of my logical being of there being not enough time, resource, and/or energy… it is a contained concern as I most often keep it to myself, emerging victorious having slew the beast. I thrive on a full plate – and that can be taken in any context – but of late, I’ve had to confine my pursuits because time is too limited.


Some of the things I’ve read lately confirm my own convictions in this business, while others are in direct opposition to them.  Guess that just goes to show there is no true right or wrong way – which allows for creative intervention. There are changes in the industry yet, I would be the first to admit, I have never feared change. I also don’t hold true to tradition, in most cases, having decided to take the best of all worlds and combine them – learn the rules, apply what works, change what doesn’t, and delete the improbable. Yes, confidence and surety are confirmed while remaining steadfast; but being true to your own spirit and direction are too wrapped up in change to be ignored.


Ah, yes – that which does not kill you makes you stronger – thanks to Frederich Nietzsche for the words which find so many applications. It is difficult to get past the feeling of being “tested” when hit with life as we lament “why me” in a moment of self pity. Life’s obstacles steel our ability to deal with more, and it doesn’t seem so hopeless if there is a chance to find resolve. But what about those things you cannot fix – is being tested necessary to the extent of “omg what next?” The strength in the phrase refers to lessons and learning and growing beyond that which would break you if you let it – it gives no comfort to the feelings of sadness, depression, or the necessity to wrap protective armor about your heart.


What does all this boil down to? Time, true, tested = tenacity and the ability to hold fast with inner and outer strength while weathering any storm that may lay assault upon your being… it doesn’t mean it gets easy, it doesn’t mean you will always be happy, it doesn’t mean you won’t want curl into a lonely corner. But the test of time is said to heal all wounds and truth builds tenacious walls if you do not give up.

Postscript: The bulk of these words were written in 2012 and, although 2 years later, they are tried, tested, and true. During the time in between, I have dealt with a mess of things, yet here I am on the other side… some things are so much the same even though my world is totally different in other ways. I have not given up but will profess that time is not the healer it is claimed to be… for some things there is no magic medicine – there are only band-aids.


Filed under On Life, On Writing

Writing and planning and all that goes with it…

To me, the statement “life goes on” is such a broad and general expression. It is a phrase comprised of words said as confirmation, in consolation, or for situations where we don’t know what else to say except to state the obvious… but it’s the truth and it does go on even if in a different way or a dramatically changed manner. We all have, at one time or another, experienced events that rock our world and change how we forever view it, leaving only memories, if we are so lucky. So as I move beyond the hold of raw grief into the confusing realm of memories and newly discovered freedoms, I work through the debris in the best way I can, dealing with the uncontrolled emotional outbursts and equally disturbing contented quiet, grasping in both instances, tangible objects for grounding or intangible feelings for comfort. I continue to do what I’ve always done – take on too much, keep too busy, and devise and  dream of all kinds of plans. It is the opposite of depression where one wants to do nothing… instead, I want to do everything. I want to feel happy, I want to experience the depths of love, the heights of exploration, the vastness of this journey – I want it all; I want to live. But, as with most things, even life takes some modicum of planning unless we are drawn to the up and whatever of spontaneity – totally acceptable, yes, but a scheduling nightmare when one is working, running a company and a volunteer organization, entertaining a renewed relationship, freelancing, connecting with friends and family, and spending valuable time with a daughter who will be moving out of town.

All acceptable. But all need planning and juggling (see this blogger’s post for more on the coping with the overwhelming as a writer). Even though there is an emptiness that will persist, I feel as if I can move beyond the past year’s stress and emotional strain, to look at having some fun and creating happiness for myself. The planned writer’s retreat in May was decided in the fall and looks to be a wondrous 3 day delve into writing and relaxation and inspiration. The getaway in April (Easter long weekend) is something that has been brewing and stirring inside of me… growing over time, spurred by need, driven by passion… and as if the gates were opened and I was offered the open field, my spirit will venture to the place where the wild horses run. Finding and booking accommodations in a B-and-B in the exact area was like serendipity – synchronicity at work. I always contend the things that work in that way were just meant to be… timing, it’s all about timing and taking time.

I know that accomplishments lie ahead – I welcome them and strive toward them. But I also know, many of those achievements will be bittersweet as I share silently with one who will be forever missed. I think about how she would have loved to hear about all these adventures and how she would have worried as we ventured off on each and every one of them – she was like that and it is something I try not to do when my daughter is away, despite her claim that I am always worrying… (I’m not. Really. Do I?)

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” ~ Oscar Wilde 

Photo: Wild horses near Socorro, N.M. Credit: Associated Press



Filed under On Dreaming, On Life, On Writing

Family Day

He picked me up in the blue Tucson – the one that used to be Mom’s, and he drove the first leg of the trip out to my sister’s for coffee. We talked about work and weather and the state of things within our family dealings. At one point I felt scolded, as if a child, just because my views don’t match those of others. I feel like a rebel as they may never be the same and I hold independence and freedom of thought close to my heart. I said I didn’t care but that was taken out of context – it is not that I don’t care, but rather, I care too much to let the numbers overshadow that which is truly irreplaceable – her. I am not oblivious or swayed by what others know to be their truths realizing we should all decide for ourselves and hold true to your own. I am me – and there were tears. But he had his tears, too. Dad stated bluntly that no one could know the extent of his loss – she was his life and now he just exists.

We talked of subjects I feared would be hard to broach; but, in all honesty, they were easy once the emotional trench was dug. I flooded it with inquiries, comments, and questions so he would be aware of the things we already knew, already had in the works – we, being those I have spoken to about the subjects we discussed. There is cause for concern but we found truths and revelations in our conversation. But, there were also things that need further clarification. What one chooses for their last resting place is personal yet it cannot be so personal that no one else is privy to the preference. At one point, he admitted he would have chosen cremation and the spot to rest – now he chooses to be by her side forever, and we have that covered.

The blue icing skies were smeared with fluffy white marshmallow clouds. The warmth of the mid-February sun at +2 kissed the snow-covered fields making them shine like meringue, rich sweet and browned in patches with winter wheat or grasses or weeds peeking through the snow. Crows and coyotes plump with an abundant taking of winter road kill watched from the ditches as our vehicle passed by… We encountered a quizzical little animal on the highway and in the wondering “what it was” realized quickly that the vehicle next to us determined what it wasn’t… alive… so quick a life can end. It was puzzling until we saw one right outside muskratmy sister’s house under her truck. We determined the little animal to be a muskrat – and we wondered of its frequency in sightings (there were plenty for the crows and coyotes along the highway) and did it hibernate? A search provided the answer – no – but it usually sits at home content to feed on the stores built up for winter survival. It ventures out at first sight of spring…

As nature takes its course and one is lost leaving others to go on, we must embrace the life around us. Take time to smile at the sunshine, wonder of the creatures, and feel pleasure in the company of those still here. We must let those hurtful things go that bog us down with anger or bitterness; accept that your views don’t have to match those around you to be just as viable. We must also venture out into the big world to discover what it has to offer – no matter our fears – and appreciate life in the moment.  


Filed under On Life

The Year of the Horse

aragorn on brego

No matter where your journey takes you, be true to your own spirit (Photo: LOTR)

On this first day of the new year, there is much to celebrate, much to be thankful for, and a tremendous journey ahead of which to partake. The celebration (if not overdosed in the literal sense on the eve of such a momentous occasion) should be in our hearts as we welcome this new beginning. Sure, there will be things we cannot control and events that will not be of our choosing, but as Garth Brooks sings, “…I could have missed the pain, but I’d have had to miss the dance.” Simple… pay no mind, just dance, and together we can navigate the hardships, hold close the friendships, and master the sails of our life as we steer through waters, stormy or calm.

Big ocean - little boat. (Photo Gary Iverson)

Big ocean – little boat. (Photo: Gary Iverson)

As you look back, give thanks for all that you have and all that you hold near – not material things – but the things you cannot measure in the physical sense, the people who are dear to you and play a part in your life’s journey as we play, or have played, a part in theirs – a reason, a season, a lifetime. Some lifetimes, we know, are all too short and the loss may burden us as we move forward. There is comfort in the fact that those who leave are never truly gone as we bring them with us – always – as part of our journey, they become a part of our history.

The journey lies beyond the horizon (Photo: Linda J. Pedley)

We must be thankful for our skills, our passions, our abilities. Appreciate the present – the gift is this new day. Treasure it and go on. Never forget where you came from – covet that in your heart and in your memories. The future is yours to take – make your own way, take your own road, be your own person, find happiness along the way… it is your journey, your story, your legacy.

I was not born in the year of the horse, but I am inspired by it. In fact, my year is not compatible with those born in the year of the horse. Regardless, I feel the spirit of the horse within as I embrace freedom, my own way, and the call of the wild, for the most part. My daughter would argue I have lost my sense of adventure and fear the things I cannot prevent. It is true I have grown cautious – in the physical sense… however, not in my mind, imagination, or dreams. They are bold. They are, at times, brazen. They are even brave when we consider all things. As I look forward to this new year, while trying to keep a focus on the present and a handle on the past, I know I follow my heart when I write. Look for more words in 2014 – I am, therefore, I write.

2014 happy new year banner



Filed under On Life, On Writing

Creating a Memory

It is November 4th and many of those adamant about the NaNoWriMo November craze are well into the word count with 50,000 the goal by the 30th. There was no arguing whether or not to write this post although it would take precious time and perhaps 500 words or so that don’t count towards the NaNo goal. But I couldn’t help myself. I needed to write about the past day, the past week, the past year… and in doing so, I feel I will create a memory I can live with to bring forward on my journey. You see, I lost a fan last year when my mom died. I know she would encourage me and, I am sure in my heart, she is watching from wherever it is you go after you leave this world. I have to believe, like everyone else, you will see again in some other space those who have left you behind, or vice versa – they will see you again if you leave first. My writing is important to me – this is when I feel alive, no matter what I am going through. If I leave it, I am ill. If I write, I feel happiness – okay, not jump up and down for joy happiness, but contentment in my choice because I am doing what I was meant to do. There is a discovery somewhere along our journey when we realize “this is it” and our passion confirms our choice (…although I believe the choice was never really ours to make – it is an inherent part of us… we just had to discover it.)

Yesterday marked one year of her passing – the week up to this day was emotional for me as I remembered back to “what was happening at this time last year.” Some were personal times I can share with no one because I was the only one there. Others are common to family members and friends, a sadness shared as we deal with this loss each in their own way. But no amount of crying, no prayers, or denial will bring her back. There is an empty hole in my heart, sometimes a void in my spirit, often an emotional depression, but I will fill them all with words. My NaNo project is a continuation of Novella I, A Journey of Brothers, released in the summer of 2012 as an EBook, dedicated to my mom. She loved the book and I told her I would be writing more to follow up – Novella II – A Journey of Truth, and Novella III, A Journey of Desires, are now in the works.

In much the same way, my 2010 NaNo novel “Power Struggle” came to be started at my dad’s hospital beside – the Journey YA series will be part of connecting good things that come out of what we perceive to be not so good. The new work will be dedicated in my mother’s memory and it is in this way I can leave a legacy and a lasting memory.

In memoriam - Mom


Filed under On Life, On Writing


I will premise this blog with a short note to readers: I am fine. I will be okay. I am doing what I need to do in order to deal with things. YOU are the reason I will be okay for I am blessed and lucky to be part of such an amazing group of people – family, friends, co-workers, fellow writers, lovers of life, dreamers, believers… there have been many developments since last year, some good, some not so good – all are part of my journey.


The traffic is light but increasing as the dawn creeps into another day. I am awake and the coffee is brewing. It’s a cool mid-fall -8 and the snow from yesterday is still on the ground. It makes me wonder if it will stay again … like it did last year. By Wednesday this week last year we had a storm that dropped several inches and it was cold – winter stayed this week last year.

There is no reason to be up this early as I begin a vacation week. Days that are mine, time taken to allow me to get done some stuff yet undone, to do some things abandoned, to deal with emotions still alive and raw and welling inside. This week will mean to each of us something different, yet for our family it also means something so common – the pain of loss.

This day started early after an uncomfortable sleep, if I could call it that. This day begins, promising to be productive, but not without discomfort. My memories do not rest easy in my mind nor do they soothe my heart. For I – this day, last year – called an ambulance to take my mom to the hospital. It was to be a one way trip.

I have written only a few things about her over the past year – I feel I have neglected my words in many ways yet have continued my journey as a writer in others. So much has happened – many good things, even though they are tinged with sorrow. Dealing with the loss has been a rollercoaster and I know people deal with death in different ways. I have no presumptions of its glory and where we end up; who really knows? I don’t believe in things that some people turn to during these times – it was a choice made long ago. But, I honor my mother and her beliefs; those give me comfort, small as they may seem at times… it allows me to think she is okay and with her own mother again.

My mom’s picture stands on my shelf at my bedroom doorway where I can see her every day. I talk to her and visit her grave. Those physical things I clutch in a desperate attempt to hold her close. The thought that makes me cry, every time, is how I miss her hugs – I always got one when arriving and another when I left. That emptiness – that hollow in my heart – will never be filled. Others in my life – family and friends – will surround it and make it better so I can go on, but no matter how much time passes, that deep wound will not heal. They say time does that but I don’t believe it for one second.


Photo by Linda J. Pedley (c) October 27, 2013


Filed under On Life, On Writing

A Tribute


~ George Gordon (Lord) Byron (1788-1824)

SHE walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow’d to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair’d the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

A Tribute to My Mom:
This page remained blank for some time while in my emotional argument I debated the finality of it all if I put the words to page. Would it be admitting it was okay in some way? My strength comes from within just as it will for all of us but it also resides in the love I knew she held for those who were close and for all of those who came to know her. She knows the connection I have to words and I pray she hears them now as I share them with you today. In our grief we can take solace in the comfort of knowing she no longer suffers and will not endure more pain. The monster cancer was caged when she took her last breath and her sleep allowed her to move peacefully to the next stage of her journey.

I am certain I speak for my family and all her friends when I say she will be missed. There is a void there that will never be filled. She will be remembered always – when we meet for special times, when we resume our normal days; when we lie to sleep in the quiet of the night and our heart aches while tears fall. Even in our understanding that everyone’s time comes to pass, it will be difficult to accept she is not here to comfort us, support us, and stand beside us. Even in our understanding that her spirit will be with us no matter what, there is little comfort right now in the belief of what we cannot see. Even in our understanding that this raw wound will slowly heal and we know as times passes, the hurt will diminish. Even in all this, our love will not fade…

An Alberta soul, through and through, my mother’s roots kept her anchored here – she was born in Edmonton at the University Hospital in May of 1936. She lost her father soon after her birth and she and her four sisters were raised by their mother, my grandmother, Martha. Mom was the youngest and the last of her sisters to say good-bye to this earth – she leaves us to join them now. I find comfort in the fact she will not be alone.

BJ, as she was known, loved music and as the choir sings and the heavenly host plays on, she will be part of that beautiful sound. She asked me in the early morning hours while she sat in her hospital bed holding off sleep for as long as she possibly could – “do you think there is music in heaven?” I assured her she would hear music. I am sure she will have a table reserved right up near the front to listen or to participate in its making.

She was creative – loving crafts of all sorts. She was an artist – drawing fantastic portraits of great leaders sold years ago. She wrote pages and pages in her journal of her most inner thoughts – and although I could not yet convince her to write her story, over time she came to share stories of her life and so enjoyed reading what others wrote. She loved to cook – we fondly remember the dishes she made over the years while growing up. She loved her garden and nature was her solace. When she moved to the acreage to live in what we lovingly call the “little house” she planted trees. Surrounding the back yard are six large evergreen trees – each one representing a member of our immediate family. They stand as sentinels to protect not only from the north wind but as a reminder of the closeness she felt as a family. She loved her dogs – not only her own over the years but the neighbor dogs that came to visit keeping her company, watching out for her – they visited recently probably wondering why that caring person was not coming to the door to acknowledge them. She loved horses and their beauty although their size scared her; she watched for the geese to return each spring and listened in the fall to their sounds aloft as they left for another winter. Born under the sign of Taurus she was grounded and real and practical and solid and generous and loving. Although she had dreams that perhaps were changed by the turns life took, she raised four kids and kept a wonderful home. She loved to the end the man she spent over 60 years with – my dad.

She was raised in the ‘40s; met and married my dad in the ‘50s; providing a loving home for her husband and us kids – myself, my two sisters and my brother. She was a role model for us in that she always strived to obtain something better – not extravagant or out of reach, but modest and humble and not wasteful. She grew up with little so she appreciated what was out there and worked hard toward bettering herself and her family.

In 1972, my family moved to Sherwood Park when my parents bought their first home. We were lucky to be able to have a mom who stayed home with us while dad was away working and as soon as we were old enough to take care of ourselves she went to work. She got her GED and completed the education she didn’t have opportunity to finish when she was young. Her influence on us and the gifts passed down through our family are evident in all we do. We have singers, musicians, artists, writers, and hard workers who are compassionate, caring, and giving. She taught us well.

There are lessons to learn and life is not easy at times. We question why things work out the way they do and are upset by things we don’t understand. In the unknowing, there is fear. Even in her weakest hours, she knew she was loved and she was never alone. She understood the severity of it all yet found humor at times to make us laugh and never lost her sense of adventure – when asked if she’d wanted a drink she replied “vodka” and when Kelsey offered to read to her to pass the time she suggested “50 Shades of Grey.”

Now if I got this far without breaking down, it has been a miracle. I suppose I will not be able to continue much more so I will simply close with – my beautiful mother, we will miss you. We love you and will remember you. Always.

Thank you to the caring staff at the University of Alberta Hospital – surgery and 3E3 ward.

Thank you to the wonderful, amazing people at Glenwood Memorial Gardens – your help and compassion made a difficult time run smoothly.


Filed under On Life

Love Your Family

I did not write sooner on this topic just because I wanted to get off to a “writer’s start” with topics that appeal to the writer’s heart. My family is very important to THIS writer’s heart and therefore I profess that I love them all dearly. When I thought about all the posts that could happen for “love” January – family was high on my list and I knew the blog would come up at the right time. It is the right time now to write about my appreciation and my extreme luck in having the family that I do – and that they are safe and relatively healthy and happy. Considering all the people that are now wondering and praying for their family in Haiti – it is opportune time to thank our lucky stars that we live here where that type of catastrophe is unlikely to ever happen. Other disasters and events, of course, could (and have happened) but at this moment we are safe and alive.

In my way, I pray for all those fellow human beings who are not with their family, wondering of their safety, have lost family, are estranged from family, have no family or are dealing with a family crisis of any kind, not only in Haiti but all over the world, whether in war or in peace. We need to realize the shortness of life, the quickness of tragedy and the necessity to tell our family  every day how much they mean to us and show them every chance how much you love them.

Writing is nothing without love – and love is nothing without family.


Filed under On Life

Unsung Hero

You return from battle – head hung low – worn out, feeling not quite the knight you started out as. Your horse tires as you draw near the site where you call home – alone – both grey with dust of yester years. The lights of days past still flicker although faint in your mind’s eye and you recall with sadness what once was glory. But you don’t know your own story does not cease at this beaten trail’s end for you still have so much more to reap and rewards are yours yet to receive.

Not just material treasures but riches that you think no longer measure bountiful in your claim. Not just castle grand or family portraits edged in gilt-gold frame nor vast amounts of wine to quench a thirst and entice for more – a drunken soul high on life’s bounty as you keep score.

The untold treasures are within, buried deep – no map to guide them out – there they are hidden from the scout. You hide your feelings and keep to yourself the emotions that might display you as an easy target. You are the envy of those who you attend, who may owe you respect yet keep it to themselves – perhaps they pretend not to see the greatness you offer and think they would proffer not from your acquaintance.

You wear your heart upon your sleeve, its trust worn thin with damage from those who will take advantage of your giving way. You age, grow weary – ever wary now of the freely offered facade –  charms that suck you dry for everything you have to give. The harm is done and you wonder how much more can be expected – again rejected you are suspect in your own demise.

You do not demand exchange for your offerings, you barter with your very soul, a depleting toll waged upon your goodness. Your bruised body needs repair and in time, with care, you will ride again into another foray where success awaits you.

It is hard to heed the battle cry when the shards of love you offer are yet still ripe with healing wounds and although they will be accepted it will be only by someone who treats them as if their own. Your soul deflated by the ravages of war, will recover – although it may seem like an eternity before you regain its spirit.

Don’t despair.

Someone with like heart can hear it calling out its s.o.s. of duress.

Your mind torn between the echoed beats, forever repeat your failures yet suppress your most obvious success – you live to fight another battle. Survival means to accept all this and even torment. Demons may call out expecting you to just succumb and fall upon your sword.

But alas, although it may seem bleak and you feel too weak as malaise has seized your health, there is a wealth of life in store – like silver rain from a blackened sky.

Remember – only accept the one whose heart is true; who promises to handle you with gentle hand and offer untold devotion. One who will love you more than you love them. They will let you heal, give you time and as they love away the pain, they will remain forever by your side because they are, in fact, your kindred soul and you are their unsung hero.


Filed under On Dreaming, On Life