I lost my one and only baby that long ago – it still hurts.
I hope she still has my blue eyes up in heaven.
I lost my one and only baby that long ago – it still hurts.
I hope she still has my blue eyes up in heaven.
As I cry, deep inside, for one true love I am missing,
forcing tears that grip my heart to feel nothing.
With each breath, I feel past love with hugs and kisses.
Does he know? Does he remember?
Do tears fill his mind with remembrance?
My silent tears have closed my heart
and wiped his face from memories.
Yet I pray someday
He will ask if he can love me.
What would I say, upon that day?
Cry tears of amazement?
Would I simply walk away?
To say our love is gone forever?
Until that day, I cannot say
As silent tears still remain.
I’m sitting at a picnic table near the pier in Two Harbors watching Lake Superior. She is the world’s largest freshwater lake by surface area – 31,700 square miles (82,100 square kilometers), roughly the size of Maine. It holds 10% of the world’s surface freshwater. On a sunny day like today, the lake is full of flashing shiny crystals of light created as the waves gently rolling in.
It’s 50 degrees outside as I write this. The lake’s stimulating yet calming energy has already wrapped its arms around me. I sigh a breath big enough to fill me with peace and tranquility because I’m constantly amazed by the power of this lake. A freaky fact: The bodies of the souls lost in Lake Superior do not deteriorate. They sink to the bottom of the lake, and that is where they remain, fully intact. Alcapon liked to kill the people who did not support him and then dump them in Lake Superior (that is a fact).
When the White Star Line’s new ocean liner Titanic steamed for New York City on Sunday, April 14, 1912, it carried about 30 passengers heading for Lake Superior communities. At least nine survived the disaster to unfold that night, including two women from Duluth – Constance Willard, 20 and single, and Alice Munger Silvey, traveling with her husband, William Baird Silvey, all in first class. 2021 marks the 109th anniversary of the tragic event.
The image attached is about 1 mile from my house.
It is my private sanctuary of peace.
Each and every day I send out thanks and devotions to Lake Superior for all the power and energy she has given me. No words, written or spoken, could ever fully embrace what lives in and on the beautiful waters of Lake Superior.
One of three left in the black of night,
As the white coats tried to play God.
Stripping her heart of its peaceful rest,
Claiming lawful words didn’t fit.
Third sister stands alone in the fight,
In the blackness of the night.
As the second of three lays in a cloudy haze,
Family tightly wound ‘round her.
Tears spoke freely of past memories,
While the dwindling of time sped by.
Third sister stands alone in the quiet of the night,
And felt the beauty of the passing.
The third sister stands alone in her grief,
With a heart full of rage and contempt.
Asking why with tears in her eyes,
Her soul rips from the weight of regret.
The third sister hides in soundless screams,
As she mournes for the silent family tree.
As the last sister grieved for the first and second,
Their memory now clenched close to her breast.
A waking dream caused a glimmer of a smile,
Seeing two lost sisters with hands on her chest.
In the blink of a cry, she pulls them into her heart
with all the memories of once being three.
I wrote this poem – it was extremely difficult to write. I cry every time I read it.
It is a true poem/story of the loss of both my sisters to cancer – four and five months apart.
My wish is that you each remember to take time to honor and love all your “sisters and brothers”
that walk this land, as well as those now living in heaven.
To this very day, I still grieve for my sisters Sandy and Vicki.
It has been 6 years since they moved into heaven, yet it feels like yesterday.
My deepest wish is to have visiting hours in heaven.
– A Bit of Wisdom for All –
NEVER ASSUME YOU HAVE ANOTHER DAY
The following is a true story . . . I’ll dish it out a little bit at a time if you’d like.
The pin-pricks of itty-bitty ice bullets keep smashing into my skin as my hair wildly flies in directions humanity has not yet labeled. Damn, it stings; but strangely, the stings feel fabulous – almost sensual. It’s like getting goosebumps all over your body when you watch a scary movie. I feel alive with it – stimulated in some way. Powerful. Ready to begin anew in what I do. To allow the wind to stoke the fires up that reside in me. For a moment, imagine we are sitting by a roaring campfire chatting about who we are inside our hearts, and about the hidden passion we keep locked away. If they were released, hopefully, they would allow us to live a life full of joy and self-love.
Inside me, an angel and a dragon are intertwined in mingling parts that mimic a courtship of creation. There is so much mental matter waiting to burst out of the top of my head. My hands want to rip my heart out of my chest and present it to the world – with all its emotional memories of love, hate, harm, hope, victory, and an escalating pitch of anticipation that I’m nearly at the summit of a task that, until now, has been unattainable.
The pumping of my heart feels louder with each beat. Will it explode out of me? No, I will not allow that. The many years of waiting demands every ounce of my patience and determination – I must wait. Why am I suddenly so silent at this moment? Because my history demands it.
Calm was never a descriptive word in my life. For many years, my life was full of tornadic winds, fire, brimstone, dark rivers full of wild dirty water, broken down houses, and feeling homeless within many homes. My life did not provide a healthy structure to flourish and develop upon. There were very few kind, knowledgeable role models in my life that practiced nourishing, balanced, safe parenting. I did not grow up with laughter and hugs. The voices in my childhood were rarely below scream level. Most of the family conversations were garbled and indecipherable because of their copious amounts of alcohol and anger. My parents couldn’t aim for and hit the broad side of a barn normally, but their aim was swift as lightning and straight as an arrow when they decided they needed to slap and hit.
Readers, let me know if you want me to continue this true story……
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At birth, the first power center to develop in our tiny bodies is the root chakra, known to some as the “First Life-Force Energy Center.” Its name in Sanskrit is “Muladhara,” which means “root support,” and the Greek goddess of Earth, “Gaia,” empowers it. This very critical energy center governs the physical body, our connection to the earth, and our sense of belonging on this planet. As we come into our body, we journey into our very first involvement with our tribe, known as the “core family.” During this bonding, we experientially learn about safety, belonging, trust and survival. The state of “becoming” takes place within the first chakra. “Becoming” creates our soul’s stillness, security, and stability. All life events between birth and age seven help determine whether the first chakra, the foundational base for all chakras, flourishes or shuts down.
When shaken, the intense pressure within a sealed bottle of carbonated soda patiently waits for a tiny crack to give way so it can explode. Repetitive trauma and/or stress weakens the mind, body, and spirit in the same way. Today’s society is off the charts, with people suffering from high-stress levels and unrelenting trauma. Their body, mind, and soul really want to explode.
Many of the “shaken” folks are First Responders, Doctors, Nurses, Volunteers, Educators, and every-day people from various walks of life. The burdens and fears they bury deep within creates ill-health, traumatic memories, depression, desperation, abuse, isolation, and bullying, to name a few. Accumulated traumas cause us to lead what Thoreau called “Lives of Quiet Desperation.” That becomes doubly cruel if life is endured within isolation and loneliness.
Does that all mean we’re no longer healthy? You bet it does.
Please don’t hide your pain and despair….talk with someone who can help. Please know myself and many others are sending love and light to all the people who only have darkness in their life.
Red skies in the morning
give us fair warning,
of torrents of raindrops
that simply won’t stop.
Blue skies in the morning
care nothing of warnings,
as they giggle in sky-talk
of people on dog walks.
My heart follows nature
no matter the day,
with my searching blue eyes
Lake Superior ’tis always my prize.
We live in Two Harbors, Minnesota, and have the luxury of gazing at Lake Superior from our deck. The attached picture is of the Crisp Point Lighthouse in the UP of Michigan. It is one of the U.S. Life-Saving Service Stations along the coast of Lake Superior between Munising and Whitefish Point.
“IT IS A STUNNING AREA”
The stretch of coast between Whitefish Point and Grand Island is known as “The Shipwreck Coast.” On November 10, 1975, the SS Edmund Fitzgerald collided with a violent storm.
It sank about 17 miles northeast of Crisp Point.
The Fitzgerald’s last radio communication was with the Coast Guard station at Grand Marais.
So here I am, Sandy, sitting in the grass by your memorial. This is the day you were admitted to hospice a few years back – the day before you died. Today, I brought you a white rose with a note for you to read from wherever you are. I hope you know I’m here – I sense you all around me either way. The mallards are swimming around the pond, and one female appears to have only one baby. Their reflection in the water is so serene. Do they sense pain with the loss of a chick, I wonder? My tears keep falling . . . I wish we had had more time . . . I couldn’t stop those grains of sand in the hourglass of your life.
I am so glad you are now with our sister Vic, but damn, I want you both here with me. I want justice and compassion from the Universal Planner. How could Vic die in February, you die in July? How can that be fair in any way, shape, or form? There are still moments when I feel so very alone – like a lighthouse feels when its light burns out.
That one mallard mama waddled up with its chick. They are standing in the grass about 5 feet away – so very cute! You and I loved to fish and watch the waterfowl, and we always got more fish than the guys did. Oh, the chick suddenly just went out into the water and is slowly swimming around “peeping.”
Just like me – swimming around all alone. The chick is trying to find its mom, and I’m trying to find my two sisters.
I stand alone within my mind,
wishing both would turn around.
To say my name and hold my hand
please say it isn’t so.
We three sisters walked together,
we wished upon each star.
We traded dreams for each tomorrow,
with our heartstrings intertwined.
You both held out your hand,
and I held yours so tight.
While searching for a way,
to erase what’s been witnessed,
what’s been seen.
In the slowly failing light,
with all its approaching brilliance,
a whispered smile gently touched me
as you both slowly slipped away,
despite all the gasps of “no.”
I looked for reasons in the forests,
but none were found to be.
I looked for answers from the eagles,
hearing grief within the cries in me.
There is no better way, my sisters,
but to hold your souls within.
Until that special day arrives
when one and two become – three.