Rearview Mirror - a short story

The song plays on the radio station. The one that makes you sing out loud and want to roll down the windows and feel the wind in your hair. She smiles as the chorus approaches. She loves emphasizing the word “STOP” in the latest Cardi B song. She briefly looks in the rearview mirror, and she sees the empty car seat. Her thoughts fade to her kids. It was 7:42 a.m. and they are likely walking into their classes to pledge to the flag. She wondered if her son would remember to bring home his P.E. clothes forgotten in his gym locker. They are likely growing a science experiment by now, she thought. She says, "gross" out loud then chuckles to herself.  Other images fill her brain as she thinks about her day and the projects on her to do list. But her mind is not free of worry thinking of the work she must do on her rental home from tenants who treated is like a rock star in a hotel room on a drug and alcohol binge. What is wrong with people she thought. To leave someone’s property is such a state of disarray and mess. She started to make a mental note of the tools she needed to take over there for a long hard weekend of back-breaking work for her and her husband.

She almost feels like she is on autopilot as she drives home, taking the same route twice a day everyday school is in. This day was no different. Except there is more than usual construction going on. It seems the roads in her town are always under construction. You can’t find a road to drive on that doesn’t have flashing lights, signs posted of people working, or those dirty orange cones to avoid hitting…or hitting if you want to have some fun.  She navigates the road construction like a child on a motorcycle arcade game. Leaning left and leaning right as she curves around the guys who carelessly walk about the side of the road like there is no impending danger to their lives as cars zoom on by at 10 over the speed limit. Even though there are road obstacles to navigate through, she still values this time to think through her plans for the day and prioritize her list. She also takes a few moments to think about all that she is blessed with, her two kids and her fantastic husband who she adores and finds a new thing to love about him each day.

Her thoughts are abruptly broken by a truck pulling out in front of her, nearly clipping her bumper. As she comes off autopilot, she breaks sharply and feels the overdue library books hit the back of her seat before hearing the thud from them dropping to the floor. She raises her hands in a “WTF” motion to the driver who waves a hand out the window. Somehow that makes it all better to her. He owns his mistake.  However, he too is cut short on distance as a rock carrying dump truck pulls a fast one in front of him; leaving us all about 15 feet short of road. As she takes a moment to look in the rearview mirror, out of habit, she first glimpses the empty car seat, briefly smiling as the image of her long, blonde-haired daughter singing a song from Mama Mia with her arms waving about in full animation like she is at an auditioning for the part. But then she notices the movement of a car. The car is traveling much too fast. Her mind racing, she looks in front of her, nowhere to go, she looks left and right and sees the construction workers carrying on, but they seem to be moving in slow motion, by the time she glances back up, her mind fills with blackness.

As she opens her eyes, she is blinded by the brilliance of the sun shining in her car; she realizes she is completely turned around, covered in blood, but feeling no pain. As she slowly comes to grip with what just occurred and assesses where she is, she sees a young girl on the side of the road, crying hysterically, she is just sitting on the concrete median. I wonder if she is hurt, but quickly realize she is the operator of the car that hit me. Her car too appears pretty mangled. She is talking but not making any sense. She is visibly shaking, and tears flow like a heavy rain down her face. I slowly crawl out of my window given my car doors are inoperable.

I yell, "someone call for help!" I walk slowly over to the young girl, and I try to find words to comfort her. People are stopping now and getting out of their cars. They run to my car and shrieks of cries come from the growing crowd of onlookers. People are running around, and it is complete chaos. Someone yells there is a car seat – was there a child in the car? “Did anyone see a child in the car,” someone yells again. For a brief moment I stopped to think, “did I drop her off, did I forget, was I just imagining the car seat was empty when in fact she was really there?” panic rose inside me for the briefest moment when I quickly recall her saying “I love you mommy” as she dropped her lunch bag while exiting my car, but was quickly helped by the traffic aid. Whew! I do remember that she was not in the car, relief welled inside me. They pull on my car doors, but without any luck, they could not get them open. I realize then that they do not know that I am on the curb with the young girl who hit me. I yell, “I am over here, there was no child.” I look at the girl and tell her to calm down; I am okay. But I am sure all of the blood on my clothing is adding to her dismay, she won’t even look at me, likely ashamed. She is mumbling something I cannot make out; I hear sirens in the distance. Oh, good they are coming now, I tell her this was just an accident, that I am okay, my kids are at school. Having been in an accident before and wishing at the time of my accident that someone took the time to calm me down too. I slowed my voice and my tone and repeated to her, “I am okay.” I did not want to be presumptuous and assume she needed or wanted a hug, but more so a calm voice of reassurance.  A person came over to her and asked what happened. I chimed in, “it was just an accident, we are both fine”, but they seem to ignore what I am saying, I would typically call these people busybodies, but I am sure they have the best intentions here. One person seemed to get more and more upset standing there, and started yelling, “I saw you on your cell phone, was it worth it,” she yelled. Another woman starts yelling, “there could have been a child in that car too!” I jumped in and said, “is this necessary – we need a calm environment right now, a lot is going on, let’s take a moment to calm down and try to process this.” I see a policeman walking toward us, and my hope was that he could calm this crowd.  Many people were running over to tell him what they saw. He waved them off in an aggressive manner with his hand and asked that they back up and give us room as he observed the scene and called in some codes on his radio to dispatch. The ambulance had arrived moments later, I started to stand and walk toward them but wanted to be there to talk with the officer in case he had questions for me too. I could share the truck pulling out in front of the truck and all that, but he went straight to her. He asked her what had occurred and she explained she did not see that traffic stopped, she was almost incoherent and sobbing loudly. He asked her if there was anyone she could call and she said, “my mom, I want to call my mom.” For a brief moment I thought of my kids, I hope they would do the same, call mom she will make it better. I took comfort in that for some reason. 

I see the paramedics come over to the officer, and he whispered something to them as they passed us and went to my car, I quickly gestured with my hand narrating and saying, “I am here, that is my car.” I repeated, “I am okay, we are okay, this was just an accident.” But then I see them pulling someone from my car. I am confused for a moment. I am unsure what is going on. I begin to walk toward the car, and as I look upon the face of the women they are pulling from the car, I quickly feel the sting of tears fill my eyes. It is me. I am being removed from my car. But how can this be, I am standing right here, I was comforting the girl, I was explaining to the officer what happened. My body is lifeless. With all the care in the world, I am placed on the gurney. Then as quickly as the blackness came in when the accident occurred, comes the total whiteness. I realize it is the white sheet they place over my lifeless body. Behind me, I hear painful screams and confusion.

My once happy thoughts quickly become sad as I picture my wonderful husband and my sweet kids. I won’t be there to pick them up today or any day from here on forward. I won’t hear my daughter’s sweet songs or recount my son’s day and all the things he forgot. I won’t hear about the comical stories my husband tells about his office life or share in how much work we have to do to get our rental home on the market for sale. I will miss his hugs. My heart fills with blackness as I come to terms with the reality I am no longer among the living.  I did not get to say goodbye to those that will likely hate me for leaving them far too early in this life. I wish I could take back all the comforting words wasted on that young girl on the roadside and send them to my kids for they will be confused and they will not understand why mommy won’t be there ever again. What was a careless act by one, quickly turns to a death sentence for another. I feel my soul lift, and I know it is my time to leave this life behind, but not before one more glance in the rearview mirror.

XXXXXX

United we stand, divided we fall.

We live in such a backwards world. People interpreting and applying the Bill of Rights every day to their advantage. The protesting that is going on, people are upset and stating people don’t have the right, when in fact it is the first amendment – perhaps the platform for which some of these messages are being produced is causing much anguish and people clearly don’t agree.

Next the mass shootings, now people talk about guns and the control of guns, when in fact the second amendment declares the right to bear arms, but people will twist it to suite a perspective skewed from others. This does not grant people the permission or entitlement to go on killing others for no reason.

What we fail to understand is the Bill of Rights provides freedoms that many will not agree with, but it is not freedom from consequences if you chose to exercise those rights. Both situations will have backlash, so what do we do to correct the issue?

We start by listening, we start by respecting, we start by providing mental health counselling and access to proper healthcare, we start by taking care of each other, we start by stopping the blame, we start by being compassionate, we start by having difficult conversations, we start by appreciating our history to progress our future, we start by accept the things we cannot change, the wrongs we cannot make right, and to focus on what we can change and what we can make right.

Where did we take a wrong turn in applying our basis freedoms? Where did we become such a divided country filled with so much civil unrest and hate and blame?

Yes, conversations need to be had – but they need to be the kind of conversations that progress us as a society, not divide and take away from what we have worked hard to build. We are going backwards with the division the hate the inappropriate application of the Bill of Rights to suite our own satisfaction. It just makes me sad that when you have children – you want to think you are leaving them in a world that was a better place than when I was here, I am not so sure that I am doing that now.

Life is hard enough, why must we add to it? I said last week that FB has become a stage for pushing agendas and after yesterday’s devastating events – it is even more so than it was.

How do we right this wrong? How do we become a society that stopped accepting that not everyone will be right all the time? How did we become so desensitized to the events such as what occurred yesterday, how do we recover the compassion that we once had? When did we stop caring for life?

I just don’t know but I am willing to listen, I am willing to accept that my way may not be the best way, I am willing to take chances to make this world a better place for my kids, one free of hate, blame, and violence.

My mind cries, my heart breaks. 

The Mirror

02-23-17

The reflection that stares back is not one I recognize. The lines of time, the roadmap of a life shaken and agitated, devoured by traumatic occurrences of survival. Every path navigated with varying degrees of defeat and subsistence.  How did this become a life so unfamiliar at times and at other times too familiar, almost comforting? Leaving a strike of pain the rises from within so suffocating, yet intoxicating. One might say devastating, but if you are me, it is vindicating. Knowing the reflection is one that cannot be impassive from my existence, a constant reminder that to be victorious means you have slain the demon that  eagerly sit in the darkness waiting to consume you with sorrow and dread, pinning you onto the ground with a hand akin to a hammer, but not this time…not any time here after.

May you try, and may you fail, as you have watched me do so many times before. You track that life line to a young girl who was afraid, alone, yet bidding her time, for this too shall pass she would tell her mind and body; do not lay duped to what has been taken, but set yourself free for all that remains; there is so much that remains. Do not be so naive to think this life will be without darkness, but take comfort in the moments that leave you breathless, bounded by blimey.

Too often I move through time with a blindness to happiness…wishing, hoping, my time will come. Tick tock…the clock strikes, go. I run, run so fast my limbs feel as though they are being ripped from my body. Running toward my life’s train. But…wait, all this time I have been running for the final destination. No! No, I scream in my mind. The final stop is the end of my journey. Panicked, I pull the cord to signal my early departure, it is not the final stop I seek, but the stop in between the last place and the place I don’t want to know.

No, it is not my time yet, I am slowing. Gently slowing, as not to miss my sojourn in this life. The reflection in the mirror whispers…here, stop here. I like this stop, I see happiness and my heart starts to beat again. Although I am still slowing, yet another life line tracks across my face. Let it show, relishing in all that is expressions - I lived, I loved, I cherished. It is one I will embellish with eternal bliss, even though I know it will not last forever. Decorating this place within my heart with jewels of pride, affection, and joyfulness. Adorned for better person surely, but it comes to me, so I grab it, hold it, and keep it for as long as I can.

Until tomorrow, when I see the person staring back at me; until then will I feel the need to relive the unpredictable opulence of life, but I will resist residing in the loins of purgatory.  My fate, my destiny, my life. Mirror, mirror, on the wall… may you capture my soul with a glance, may you hold it with time…but may you also set me free.

The Passing

By Lee Ann Walker

9/20/14

Death affects us all very differently, but none immune to the thoughts that occur right before the moment of passing.  The moment of time that you become starkly conscious that there is no point of return, no turning back. The moment when you speak the words that flood the brain into the ear before the final breathe, you try to hold the moment before the passing, but like water it slips through your fingers – you are unable to say everything your mind is relaying to your mouth, and you realize this and sadness overcomes, you lean in to say all that you can - I am here, rest easy sweet babies, and I love you.

The heart knows no dissimilarity in the realm of loss, a loss is a loss, the heart grieves in a manner that the brain cannot fully understand or put into words. The moment after death, the brain seeks to find reason and thinks of all decisions before the passing moment and after the moment of passing. It analyzes the final moment to see if the right choice has been made – for it is the rational portion of the person, knowing there was great pain in keeping the inevitable from occurring. For keeping you here would have been a personal indulgence that should not be allowed to continue as your suffering was evident. I will not forget your eyes, they tell a story of contentment with the cloudiness of a sweet goodbye – you somehow know it is your time, perhaps it is the steady flow of tears I shed, or perhaps the smell of the air hinted of death. It is almost as if your eyes spoke to my heart, telling the story of happiness, a life of love, and the final moment of passing over into a world of no pain, no suffering, and no ailments was coming. I know you loved me, my steadfast babies.

Every moment since our forever goodbye, my thoughts are of you, I see you everywhere, surrounding me, I thought I saw you sitting in your usually spot, but I know it was my wishful mind thinking of how wonderful it would be to have you for another final moment.  I know the bad days must occur to make us really appreciate the good days, and there were so many good days. You both were gifts, ones that I treasured, held dear, and will forever miss.

The sadness in my eyes as you look upon me knowing the eternal light is for you, will be forever imprinted in my mind and marked on my heart - go to your bridge.  You reach out with your tiny paw with a tiny gesture as to say it is okay mom, it is our time to go. The bridge awaits, the field of flowers and butterflies to chase is calling us. It is sad to lose one baby, but to bear the loss of two within minutes proved to be the biggest heartache I have endured in a long time. 12 wonderful years is what I hold dear.

In the passing moment a piece of my heart went with you, I will never forget you, you served alongside me during my darkest moments and you created so many happy moments. Thank you both sweet babies for being my rocks and lending me an ear to share my dreams, my losses, and saddest, yet greatest moments of my life, thank you for your steadfast friendship and unconditional love. This family is no longer complete in your departure. No other will fill the void that has been created by your absence.

Forever in the passing. Cross the bridge into the unknown, happiness awaits. I will see you again when it is my time. Until then dance.

In My Words...: Mind Infiltration

In My Words...: Mind Infiltration: No words of ease to comfort the heart of the broken, so many shattered pieces. Diligent denial rests easy in the mind, maddening solitude r...

Mind Infiltration

No words of ease to comfort the heart of the broken, so many shattered pieces. Diligent denial rests easy in the mind, maddening solitude resides in my bones. Forsaking all good and casting away all evil, yet the residual is a permanent black scar that lifts its weary head for no one.

Panic of the unknown, fear of the known, living, breathing darkness consumes my being. The light. The light, however, is like a speck in the sky, a star in a faraway galaxy, not much larger than a pin prick, yet it provides a sense of peace, a sense of tranquility. It provides the hope.

Small but mighty. A battle so grown it manifests and evokes the contrast of nimble and dilatory. Illuminating the darkness, while the darkness smothers the light – the constant ritual begins, an intricate dance among thieves.  Can it be a reverie or a dreary misapprehension, never allowing the ability to escape to seek restitution from the crimes it has prevailed upon my soul. Never bring righteousness to the victim, but always magnificence to the malicious.

I tender my thoughts to provoke an emotion that only the goodwill can control. It is for this instance that my sanity finds a moment to catch up, to relinquish the chains that bind and set oneself free from the burdens that weigh you down like a heavy, luminous cloud in an eternally brilliant blue sky trying to find its way around the wall of despondency you have built in your mind. Peace is forthcoming, as justice will be done. It may not be within the respire that remains, but knowing in my broken heart the sentinels of impartiality will collect on the overdue liability.

Hope permeates in like a slow rolling graveyard fog, it devours the darkness and brings with it a feeling that cannot be replicated or masked. I know, you know, we know that the time of sorrow will be done. The thoughts part to allow the brilliance of the mind to deliver a message of tranquility that bides for the day you will devour all that is can provide. Hope is but a step away on the brick path of life, steadfast and strong. Hold tight for the hero, for at the end of the day that is you.

Heal your sorrow, mend your heart, open your mind, and allow the verve to collect your soul and bring forth the goodness that warrants imminent melancholy occasions. Thy mind is uncontrolled, do not be deceived, allow the mind’s gears to turn and open the heavy, dungeon gate that once held in its captivity a soul that was weak - but no more, allow the thoughts to run free and far away. Love, live, and be the person who holds happiness in their vestibule of life’s gates. Walk…through, your time has arrived.

Dads of the Dying

A heart mom I adore and love had recently made a dedication to her husband for being the support she needed during and after the loss of their baby due to complications surrounding their son’s heart defect. I must say I was touched to see this recognition, for I too have often felt, and feel, as if I do not provide enough credit to my husband for his unyielding love and support. While our daughter is a heart baby, we did not lose her, yet we grieved the loss of a child free of worry. In times of great despair and heartache, we pull from everywhere, just to hang on, often abusing the life lines being given to secure our own life line. Husbands and fathers often play many roles while also tending to their emotional well-being. They are our magnificent rock that prevents the waves of devastation from taking us under to drown in the tears of a broken soul and from walloping us when we are already down. When we expose the emotion that comes from a heart that is breaking or has broken, it is often our husbands who come to patch the wounds with love and caress away the tears into a sanctuary of safe keeping. They can’t make it disappear or stop or even go away, but they certainly provide the much needed crutch to our falling house.

Our children are our ribbons of life, wrapped around our entire being, even existence, often times wrapped so tightly we feel suffocated, but a comfortable nurturing suffocation, one that we thrive on and seek out – a sort of love addiction. When our children are sick, we feel paroxysms from the inside out that cannot be measured by any other life event for nothing is comparable to the agony of a sick, dying, or lost child. I know for me, I have to stop and make sure that I turn to my soul mate and ask him if he is okay – often left to deal with the grief and pain in times of silence – away from the suspecting ear and when he is alone, for he feels he must be strong for me. I want you to know I am here for you too, you are always strong when I am weak and when you are weak, know I will be there to carry the weight of your broken heart in my hands and do my best to wash away the burdens of this new found life, and provide you with a sanctuary of safe keeping.

Simply put, our husbands and fathers to our sick and dying children are the silent partner that provides in moments of great weakness, sadness, and despair. They provide the light to guide the days to free us from the eternal night that surrounds our heart and darkens the mind. My husband is my greatest love, supplying the greatest love to me and our family. That is priceless and something a billion lives cannot repay. Thank you for always putting us first even when you put yourself at risk of breaking. Thank you for your selfless acts to ensure my sanity at times I wanted to put my head through the wall, times I wanted to give up, and times I just wanted to die. Thank you for pulling me back from the ledge of guilt, uncertainty, and insecurity. Thank you for taking on all that came along with the title of dad and husband, at times I am sure more than you bargained for, but I know all you wanted to be was the best dad and husband you could, and know you are so much more than just the title. Thank you for being you, just when I need you. Today, tomorrow, forever. I am the woman I am because of you. For that I am eternally yours. My love, our love, always.

Cael, son

Ryleigh, daughter

Lee Ann, wife

Here Today

Desperation is all too familiar of a feeling, my heart latches on to every free emotion trying to keep from slipping in the quicksand of despair. She is hurting, he is fighting, and they are dying. Life is fragile yet there are some who fear living and there are some who fear nothing and throw caution to the wind. Find balance, find equilibrium, find peace. No one asked me if I wanted to be a part of this life, no one asked me if I had the strength. I have never hated something so strongly, loathed something so greatly, admired something so little. I am tired, weak, and yet I must find the will to sink my fangs of strength into all that tries to take her from me. From my cold, dead, lifeless body will I ever give up this fight, for her, for me, for us. For she is a fire that burns through my soul, she is the light that guides my way to goodness, for evil is knocking at my door, she is the wind that lifts my mood and carries my sweet surrender to greater heights out of reach of hopelessness. It is not fair so many fight to live, so many live to fight, and so many have no fight and seek death as a comfortable retreat from the problems that tumble down the hillside of life. I get it, I have felt it, I have lived it. No one has to like it, but everyone has to respect it.

When one is sick and in pain, we all feel it, when one is lost to the angels, we all grieve it, when one is happy and doing great, we all enjoy it – relish it, savor it, seek more of it. We move together like the waves of time, seeking a better place, a better life, and a better dream. So easy to crumble into ruins with the slightest of change. Move hastily to enjoy the special times and moments for they may be removed without call from the story line of life. You’d be best to live in the present and not dwell on the past for there is no changing it, no magical wish, no genie to rub, no time machine to set you back and enjoy the pleasures of a redo. The present and future is all that remains. Do we really need anything else?

I see hope in her eyes, a glimmer, a spark of how great life could be, then with the slightest change in tide, I also see remnants of one of the worst days of my life running the length of her chest. It is never far from my thoughts. I weep for those that have lost, I mourn those that have been lost, and I seek contentment that I may find a place and time to accept this life, for there is no other I will be given. For I desire the in between. I see that now. There is no changing it tomorrow. When she smiles and looks into my eyes, it is moment I want to freeze time, for I never know if tomorrow, it will be the same. Sadness seeks a place to hang its eternal hat in my heart. I will fight with heated steel, until my weary heart fails to respire life in my living form. For she is here today.

Wrecked

By Lee Ann Walker

08/25/13

Wrecked by the words, devastated by the blow of the moment, seated, shaken. Life around us swirls so quickly - faces and movements can no longer be made to form, words erupt, unrecognizable, yet distinct, reminiscent. Simple is no longer the way of life, for all has changed in a single element of time – capturing the past, present, and future. Hostage is the sanity that once was reveled in freedom and yet finds comfort roaming in the mind of naivety and weakness.  For the wool has not besieged my eyes, it has collapsed over my body, smothering hope like an eternal flame brought down by a feather weighted with cement. What will become will only be revealed in time and what will be known may never truly be known for how can you change a foreordain path. Swirls of life all around yet none so close to grab hold, an elusive concept really. The pain that embitters the mind and entwines the process of reason with despair. Quash the fury that rises from the pits of the darkness for no one can be to blame. Evoking a sadness that is deeper than the Marina Trench. Eerier is the thought that the bad luck of your day has become the bad luck of her life. There is a dungeon not too far away, it holds a place for me, many days I welcome this journey into the arms of the darkness – ready to close my eyes and fall into a slumber of defeat.  The lightest sense of life is heavy now, dragging me behind like a wrecking ball and chain. I am scrapped and bruised, unshielded from the devastating blows and cuts of an odd new normalcy. Yet there is a spark, while small and at times squelched – it is there waiting to erupt into a flame that devours the darkness and rises above to claim the throne is once resided upon. Claiming back hope and a new normalcy of life. Prosperity will reign in a time where not much else would survive, yet we are not talking about money or riches, we are talking about life, her life. For her life is my life and living is not possible without her. 

A Dad, A Best Friend

A Dad, A Best Friend

By Lee Ann Walker

03/06/2013

Haunted by a decision made of his own,

living with pain he should never have known.

He sees his life a different way,

reminded through his son, his pain will stay.

A child then, deciding to leave in search of a good time,

America his heart screamed, now a bad memory in his mind.

Leaving his dad and saying good bye,

boarding a plane to give a new life a try.

Could he have known his actions then would be so regretful,

wise reason says no, but he holds on so resentful.

A child should never have to choose,

for in the end the child will lose.

Words of wisdom cannot lessen his fears,

all I can do is wipe away the tears.

Life occurs as it is meant to be,

challenging us in ways we don’t always agree.

He thinks the divide has cost him a bond,

but in reality the love his father has is quite fond.

Solid and strong and remaining so true,

distance and time were no match for these two.

Hold steadfast in your heart my dear man,

for this bond is one that can withstand.

Never forget, in his heart he will love you to the end,

for in him, you have a dad and a best friend.

 

In My Words...: Shared Emotion

In My Words...: Shared Emotion: Shared Emotion Written by: Lee Ann Walker 01/17/2013 It is not without a blow to the gut, a desperate plea to the mind, that fate finds...

Firestorm

May I clear the webs that surround my heart. May I clear the thoughts that overwhelm my mind. May I feel the storm that breathes life into my body that has been tattered and torn.

Shared Emotion

Shared Emotion
Written by: Lee Ann Walker
01/17/2013

It is not without a blow to the gut, a desperate plea to the mind, that fate finds us locked in a corner of our heart trapped by emotions that should not be felt by anyone. It is with longing that we look to the past, a day where we were free, smiling without reason, smiling for an emotion called happiness. In the face of despair with an injured soul, we seek to find others who have shared a similar fate, hoping they hold the map to Happy Town – together we mourn and grieve as if it was our own twisted fate all over again. With a dubious cover to feel no pain, we try to block it out, ignoring it, filling our lives with other trinkets of contentment, all the while this pain lingers like an illicit friend gripping you, shaking you until you’re unable to see what remains.

Our paths in life seem so different at the beginning, but soon we realize our beginning also belonged to someone else and someone else before them. Our situations are rarely unique in fact almost everything has happened to someone else at some other time. Suddenly we realize our life’s history is not being made it is merely being relived. What makes us different is how we chose to deal with the emotions of a situation that so many others have taken to know. In the wake of the storm, devastation is inevitable, but repairable; we must find healing, for if this is not found – we will be lost. How can we make change if we are lost? Nevertheless, how can we heal such pain that funnels our thoughts and makes every action seem irrational, unjustified, and untimely? We share our story to anyone and everyone who claim they want you hear it, only to find that others too have been through it. We grieve all over; we share the emotions of others as a form of healing. Their hurting collides with our own making a kaleidoscope of pain that turns and turns shaping us into a different person.

It is easy to see your life before your life began because life is so much easier before you had to live it. We find that balance does not exist and while my luck may be bad one day, it is great the next providing unguaranteed hope that the day after today might share a similar consequence. The loss of a loved one, a child, a job, a pet, no matter the reason for sadness – it is repetitive, ah yes, life’s one guarantee – loss. One almost never forgets a loss, but rarely revels in the glory of the moment of knowing what it was like before the loss. The happiness that filled our body cavity with ribbons of warmth, tingles, and butterflies. Life is full of this up and down emotional turmoil, but it is wise to share the facts and observe the challenge and know that there are certain things you can control and things you cannot no matter how hard you press the reset button.

In the end, the only thing that ends is…we. So live like there is no ending. Do not fear what you do not understand; fear what you have not achieved. This life is limited. Share in the emotions of others who share a similar fate and heal these tattoos of life. Mourn the life you will never know and live the one you have been given. Know it will not be easy, but know there are others who are ready to walk this path with you, together may you find peace, comfort, and healing.

I wrote this piece in honor of my daughter. I always wanted a child, a girl to be specific. July 24, 2012 I had my girl, and her name is Ryleigh. She is the light at the end of my tunnel, completing my jigsaw, every piece is now in place. No, she is not perfect; in fact, she is my imperfect slice of perfection. She was born with a rare life threatening heart defect. My reality is knowing - she will never be okay, she will never be healed, and she will never know any other life than this one, I can’t change that.

She in reality, is a stark comparison to the little girl I had envisioned having. I mourned this loss, the loss of a perfect child.  Her life will not be easy, I have immense guilt in some ways that I did this to her and that by my choice to choose life - I am choosing this life for her and what if she does not want it? Every time she hurts, will she blame me? I shared my story and realized Ry is not alone and my thoughts and emotions are also shared by others. I have met other heart kids and their lives are filled with happy times, challenges, and triumph, but - through it all they have amazing courage to do whatever they desire. This is my hope for her.

I realized I, too, am a survivor of her heart defect. I realized I cannot save her, I cannot fix her, and I cannot take away her pain. As a mom that is incredibly hard to handle. I also realized her time is precious, her life is not guaranteed, and so I must enjoy her and focus on what I can control. I am one of the lucky ones, not every heart family is so lucky. I hold this dear to my heart and I know I share this emotion.

The Heart of a Fighter

The news comes with a blow of the worst kind,

Hitting your gut leaving you in a shocked state of mind,

Leaving you asking, why her and why me,

Wanting to believe it just can’t be,

A darkness so deep it drains your soul of hope,

A pain that is intoxicating feeding you like dope,

No one can explain the uncertainty that becomes,

Knowing that you and your child are the ones,

Chosen to endure a fight like no other,

Putting her life in the hands of another,

Keeping strength is an arduous task,

But knowing she will fight keeps you steadfast,

With each kick inside the womb,

It is certain her destiny is not on the path of gloom,

She will teach you all about courage and how to be strong,

Her determination to live will prove everyone wrong,

She is our heart baby that is for sure,

We know that your condition does not have a cure,

It does not change the love and pride we have for her,

We are so glad you chose us to stand beside you, that is for sure,

On the eve of your birth,

Know mommy, daddy, and brother already love you more than anything on this earth.

Dedicated to our sweet girl and heart baby, Ryleigh Ann Walker.

His Last Name

The first time his father saw it. There on that piece of white paper. He was proud and knew he had given his son the best he could. There on that piece of paper was a word made of 6 tiny letters, but was a looking glass of what was to come.  It held a future much bigger than either could have hoped for. His father passed on the legacy of life in his last name to a son honored to take it and uphold all of its integrity because this son knows the challenges and triumphs in his last name.

His last name bears a meaning of truth through time and generations. It swaddles the relationships of love, hope, and happiness. It holds the honor and courage to be the man his father was, aspire to live life to the fullest leaving no regrets, always seek the truth, and to continue the circle of life - full of giving, caring, and sharing.  In his last name he finds the endless pursuit of finding life’s meaning, and to understand what you cannot bear - you don’t have to do it alone. He wants his father to know, he will always be a part of him no matter the time or distance that passes.

Along his journey of life, his son met a woman whom he fell in love with; his decision to marry was not taken lightly for he knew he would be giving her - his last name. There is not one day she does not cherish his last name for is means more to her than her birth name.  It has meaning far greater than what appears on the surface or on that piece of paper – it is a part of her and a part of an unbreakable bond between this father and son.  

Now many years later, this man and woman began a new circle of life in sharing his last name with a son. His son has grown to love his last name, and shares it with anyone who asks - freely openly, proudly. One day his son will come to find his road is divided, and together they will know it is his time to make his way through life’s journey and on the step of goodbye, he hugs his father and says you will always be a part of me. No matter the distance or time that passes.

This father shares in the joy of a new baby girl. Years will pass and the day will come that he will walk his daughter down the aisle and give her away to the man she chooses to be her life partner. She will whisper in her daddy’s ear – I will always be your little girl, and no matter that on this day my last name will change – you will always be a part of me. No matter the distance or time that passes.

All because he decided to share - his last name.

The following is a song performed by country singer, Dierks Bentley, which inspired this piece:

http://youtu.be/D8xugcmblkg

Cut From the Same Cloth

By Lee Ann Walker

1/12/12

Years ago a man made life's greatest decision to share his name and a piece of him by having a child. The child born a male with bright blue eyes and blonde hair represented all of this father’s hopes and dreams. He hoped his son would be smart, loving, full of life, and have the tenacity that would bring him all of life's riches. As the years passed he watched his boy become a man, and he realized no matter the distance that kept them apart, nor circumstance, no matter the situation that separated them too early, he knew his son was cut of the same cloth.

He watched his son serve a country in honor, he admired his ability to learn his trade, and enjoy the blood of happiness and love when his son met his divine soul mate in life. This father knew he had done all he could to provide his son with life's purpose and direction. He knew it all had come true the moment he saw his grandchild for the first time, it was then that any doubt about the type of man he had fathered washed away with the tide of uncertainty. His son was just like him. This father raised a child into a man who gave more to this life than he ever asked for, his riches came in the blessing of a prosperous life. This father knew his son became a great man, a commonality they both shared.

This father should know his son loves him dearly, talks of him often, and admires to be all that his father is. This son is thankful for his father each day and even though the miles are between them, there isn't a day he doesn't think about him. He thanks his father for giving him the cloth of life and his name to carry on for his son. The tradition of fatherhood lives strong in their hearts and minds, and now through another generation. This father set good examples and lived by an ethical code that provided many rules, but most of all it provided a unity greater than any other, a bond between this father and son.

Take in peace and comfort knowing his son who will take life's greatest challenges head on and steadfast knowing his castle has been built of brick and mortar and will not faulter to the  hard stones of life pelting the walls,  for his cloth is much too great.

Craig and Lawson

I see you

You stand next to me but yet it is as though you are not there. You hug me and it feels as if your arms are  ribbons of air that surround me but never touch me. I am desperate to feel anything, but I am void. You are there, I see you, yet I am so lonely. The darkness licks at my weaknesses like wounds that a dog tends to after a fight he has lost to a better opponent. The darkness is trying to protect me, but doesn’t realize it is devouring my moments of happiness with its’ mission to destroying the moments of pain. You look at me with such devotion, yet there is a barrier preventing me from feeling it, soaking it in, I am trapped by my body trying to protect me from feeling pain yet it prevents me from feeling joy, I am screaming to get out, yet you do not hear me, all that I try to do to escape the darkness that pulls me in like a bad tug of war over quicksand fails, repeats, limiting escape. Such despair such agony. I want to reach out to you, yet my hand will not move, I want to whisper the words of eternal love and thankfulness, yet my mouth won’t open.

I sit in a glass jar with a lid screwed on so tight by the hand of darkness, I am able to see the world around me, yet unable to truly touch it, see it, feel it, enjoy it. How do I break this glass and escape a body that is trying so hard to help me forget, to protect me from my actions, to protect me from the past pain, but yet does not know when to stop. It is a runaway car. They call it depression, I call it a trap. At one time in my life I embraced it,  allowing it to limit my memories, emotions, and preventing me from feeling. But now, I want it to go away and leave me alone. It is like a darkness that comes from behind like a desperate shadow trying to match its form to the right person. Sneaking up on you when you least expect it. Lurking.

            I was asked once what does it feel like, depression. I know now that many don’t understand this sickness. It feels like you have been kidnapped, blindfolded, and placed in a room of darkness. You are afraid to move because you are not aware of where you are or what is in the room with you. Echoes, voices, whispers fill your brain, flashes of light, visions of horror scenes scattered across the walls, but not of a fictitious nature but of your past moments of pain. You are shoved to the ground by a bullying darkness and feel a heavy weight residing on your chest, suffocating you, then water filling your nostrils, torturing your lungs, then it stops, but only for a moment. You hear a bell - ding ding - round two, this time it feels like demons are grabbing at you with fingers of razors cutting into your flesh, loud cackles, pinching you so hard breaking blood vessels in your delicate skin, pulling your hair and slinging you around, hitting you in the head with knuckles of steal.  You fight to break free.

Then it stops, you find your way to your feet searching for the wall that moments before held visions of torture, through the sheets of darkness, then the darkness kicks you in the back so hard your breathe expels from your tiny body. With the help of the darkness, you have found the wall with some blunt force trauma, only to find it is hot to the touch and coated in nails stabbing your hands and burning your soft flesh. You banter with yourself that this is hell, almost giggling in denial that is could get any worse. The voices get louder almost screaming, you grab your head, cover your ears and kneel down, and you begin to scream too. You scream so long your throat is hoarse and your vocal cords are challenged to continue, your head feels like it has been split in half with a guillotine and your tears come so fast spilling over like a tumultuous sea breaking free from a perfect storm, you feel sick, nauseous. Then at the final moment you seek death to provide a source of comfort, a bright light breaks through the wall, blinding you, how long have you been in here? Only the sane will know. The light, well the light is one of two things. Medication firing the nervous system, that went on an impromptu vacation, into action. Or, the love of a very strong person who has given themselves to help you get better, devoting their strength to your weakness. It is your soul mate.

I see you, I feel lonely. Is the darkness coming back? Be strong for me, you are my medication. I will be back. I seek freedom. I will remember you, your love will be my hope that keeps my soul alive in the dark room. I love you.

My boys.

The Power of Thought

From the thoughts in my mind that imprison my soul, suffocating the spirit that wants to swaddle my body in life’s hopes and dreams, I resist the dungeon of dread and fight to stiffen my thoughts to break the chains that bind. I will walk free into the light, free, allowing my spirit to cleanse me of the wrong and fill me with the right. The right to know, do, and want better for myself and all others who struggle with the darkness that looms waiting to pounce on the weakness and drain the innocence.

Nocturnal Dread

It is not about abandonment or abuse, it is about the scars that reside on my internal wounds, ones that cannot be taken away by medicine or therapy. The scars that never get treated or caressed. I think I would rather feel the shot of a slow moving bullet ripping through my skin and tearing at the nocturnal dread that looms over the life that remains.  You have it wrong as I am not bitter, I do not seek vengeance, I seek fair dealing that this pain was for not, that this pain will help someone else, that this pain will eventually go away – yes this may be naive of me, but hope is all that remains. Pain that runs deeper than a cavern filled with poisonous snakes. I must slay each one to find peace, happiness, and life. It will be a long battle, but I am ready.

Like a spider that creeps up on you, biting you, because you have invaded the space it calls home. It was not intentional, the spider cannot be blamed for retaliation, it was doing only what was in its’ nature.  A healing human must do what is in their nature – when the tongue becomes sharp and cuts into your soul, for it is not personal it is healing.  There are no excuses for a survivor to create a victim, so the best way to avoid it is to allow yourself to mourn the life that you know will never happen. Live the life that can and is happening. Enjoy the treasures that you have been given whether they are small or large. Face the eternal fact that you will never know what it feels like to wake up and not be a survivor of abuse – when all else leaves – it will remain haunting you in the silence of your thoughts, in your time alone, in happy moments waiting to rip at the threads and unravel all that you have built. It will seek you out, it will smell your weakness, it will sense your inability to deal. It will break you.

There are those that will not listen to the words that escape my lips, they will ignore the story, brush it off into someone else’s lap, choose to believe that these things do not happen. There is a reality and a lesson to be learned. Depend upon yourself, believe in yourself, do for yourself.  Yourself.  Even the person that comes to you in a vision of friendship can have a dark side covered by a thick slab of lies with alternative motives.  Trust is key, it should be cherished; do not give it away like a foolish girl who pawns her virtues for one moment of happiness.  Do not feel for one minute you have been abandoned by those that do not believe or do not want to hear it, because you can only be abandoned if you give up on yourself and choose to feel abandoned.  You have it wrong if you think this is where it ends for me, I have a long life to live, and I plan on doing.

Stand up, step out, speak up. There are people waiting for you.