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I am the strong one.
The one who worries and plans
For everyone else’s care.
The phone rings sounding the alarm
I hear the panic and my heart stands still.
No sacrifice too great.
I am the unofficial manager of lives
All accept my own. There’s no time
You see for me, the strong one.
I listen, I pray standing in the gap.
I fret, lose sleep all in the name of love.
I am the one necessary element in everyone’s lives.
But I’m not.
Not needed for the joys, and thoughts
The parties and the jobs,
Not a factor until something goes wrong.
Then I am to blame
I’m expected to fix
Even if no one has really asked.
It’s my job any how
Besides, who else will do it?
Who else knows how?
I am the strong one.
The one no one calls just to say hi.
The last one content with being last.
It’s okay, really, I don’t need the concern
I freely show others.
I’m strong and that fact is my comfort.
I live an ugly truth no one can know.
Sometimes I am weak, I want to fold
But the calls don’t come.
There are times when I seek
The ear, the shoulder that look.
No one wants to give me what I need.
But I’m the strong one
And because I am strong
I keep smiling, staying on my post.
I often wonder as I caress the nuzzle
Run my finger across the blade or
Toy with the safety cap…
…when will the call come and will
it be
too
late?
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Photo credit: Daniel Lee Mingook/Unsplash
Where do Creatives go?
Worship and belonging seems foreign.
Foreign because my language is
Not your language and so...
IF I draw while you speak
Because your words have nudged me.
We are on the same wave but
The frequency is weak.
Music and praise and waving of hands
Look like clouds and dance in the Creative’s mind.
I see the glances and snickers wondering if I’m sane.
You usher me out, but I want to stand.
Where do the Creatives go?
Longing to belong but finding no place
Perceived as a threat, a nuisance.
My tears and my silenced tongue say,
Not so...
Where do the Creatives go?
To worship, to praise, sing and
Paint, to dance...
Where? I don’t know.
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My mind is weighted down. Confusion and smoke with smells of amber and coal, I close my eyes and sit waiting for that whisper, that kiss on the cheek the hope that things will get better.
It’s been too many years, and tears if I were to be honest, trying to fit into the skin you created.
I pulled and tugged and squeezed the hips of my dreams and the folds of my hopes and held my breath.
But what I learned, what I knew all the time was that you made this fit too tight and no one my size could wear this well. I can’t breathe! You didn’t make room for me to breathe, and I keep inhaling, and inhaling...
But what would happen if I exhaled?
To breathe I would have to exhale! To breathe I would be selfish. Thinking of myself and for once making me first. My mind is weighted, altered, muddled, but that’s what happens when you are oxygen deprived!
I exhaled emptying my lungs which cleared the confusion in my mind and the smells of amber and coal were replaced by the sweet smell of lavender and vanilla. I opened my eyes and stood for the first time on my own two feet! No more waiting for that whisper or the kiss on the cheek. I screamed as loud as my lungs could muster and then I did the unthinkable.
I ran, I ran as fast and as far toward that thing, the only thing that could make things better! I ran toward me and leaped into the arms of creation, and motivation and a daring-to-be-me space in my head and heart.
I learned at that moment that I was enough, equipped with everything I needed and what I didn’t need was someone that only wanted to make me small and only wanted me to live in a box with no windows and no doors; a box that fit under their arm and held in place by a musty arm pit.
I am a spring rushing through a narrow valley. I am alone on a journey that needs no approval.
I run and flow unafraid of those things that will be swept up in my current and forced to travel with me down an unknown path toward the sea or the ocean or a lake with no agenda except to rest. I yearn for rest; rest without judgment, without glances through narrow eyes punctuated by shrugged shoulders and shaking heads. Rest that makes me free, beautiful, capable of conquering my greatest fears! Capable of vanquishing the enemy within and without.
Just rest, no explanation, no judgement, no caring, and no guilt.
If I just exhaled!
Carter always had a sense for the dramatic and today was no exception. The light hum overhead drew my attention toward the front door. Grabbing my jacket, I stepped out onto the porch into the biting winter air. The snow from last night’s storm was still on the ground and I shivered as I shoved my arms into the wool coat. I shook my head as the drone flew back and forth over the cabin. I couldn’t help but giggle at the box dangling from it that was three times its size. Yup, drama, Carter’s trademark.
The drone released the large box. Once it hit the ground I walked onto the snow, looking around for unwanted visitors before picking it up and rushing back inside. Carter was also known for being late. I had been expecting the box for three days; better late than never, I suppose. I placed the box on the kitchen table and made a pot of coffee. I wasn’t ready to open the box. I wasn’t sure when I’d be ready.
Double-checking the lock on the front door, I tried not to notice the box that seemed to beckon and taunt me. I had to open it I knew but, not now. I knew that once I did, it would change everything. I felt cold suddenly, even with the fire blazing in the fireplace, I couldn’t ignore the chill in the room.
I had fallen in love; my first mistake and it was one of many rules I had broken since joining the agency; I knew better. In fact, I had trained others in this very rule. But here I was, alone, waiting for coffee to brew while being summoned by a large box sitting on my kitchen table. I wasn’t ready no doubt it held my punishment for breaking the rules. My reputation as the top agent wouldn’t protect me this time or make me exempt. Of this I knew all too well.
Taking a sip from the large steaming mug, I chuckled thinking about the large box suspended from the much smaller drone. The hum sounded more like a scream of pain rather than a well-oiled engine. Carter, he was the reason I had found myself here. He was my handler, I called him my uncle from another grandmother; it was a joke that only the two of us laughed at. He’d offered me sanctuary here while things calmed down, while he convinced the agency that I was no threat. Judging by the late arrival of the box, things had not gone well.
1 Week before –
“You’re what?”
“I’m...”
“No, never mind, I don’t want to hear it again,” Carter turned and poured himself another drink without offering me one.
“How the hell did this happen, Darian? You know better! You’re one of our best! Do you know what the agency will do when they find out about this?”
“I’m quitting,” I began waiting for him to drain the last of his drink.
“You can’t quit; you know that. The agency doesn’t allow it, especially not in the middle of a case.”
“Things are different now and the agency also doesn’t allow pregnant agents in the field.”
“DAMN! Damn you Darian! The assignment was simple; infiltrate, gather evidence and get out! We’ve been trying to bring Alonzo down for almost ten years now! His father died before we could close the case and now just when we were so close...”
“He’s not what you think, what any of you think!”
“He’s a criminal, Darian! His father raised him to take over the business! He’s even better than his father was!”
“No, that’s not true! He wanted to change things, to make the business legit and he would have if...”
“If what?”
“I can make this right, just let me see him. He’s probably going crazy right now!”
“He’s on the run right now! You lost your focus, and he knows who you really are!”
Present –
He’d refused to take my calls after dropping me here. This was Carter’s cabin, well-hidden in the mountains only the extremely determined would venture here, still I found myself checking the locks and looking outside through frosted windows looking for movement and listening for sounds that would hint of a threat.
The box still sat unopened, and it was now or never. It seemed larger than when I brought it inside. I pulled at the seams of the heavy brown wrapping paper to reveal a box that was glued shut with what felt like cement; I was eventually able to pry it open. I exhaled. I had run at least a dozen scenarios of what could be inside; a bomb, cyanide, a heavy rope. It was none of those things.
One by one I pulled the contents from the box; a bottle of very expensive champagne of which I would not be able to drink for at least seven months and a charcuterie board with my favorite meats, cheeses, nuts and chocolate covered strawberries. Carter knew me so well. There was a file at the very bottom of the now empty box, my file. Then there was a phone, no doubt a burner that couldn’t be traced by the agency.
I unwrapped the tray of food and began nibbling as I opened and read the file. I had been discharged from service, the word, Honorable stamped in red surprised me. The agency had never acted honorably when it came to disobedient agents. The first page of the file was one that had been inserted without the agency’s knowledge. It was handwritten. I recognized Carter’s writing and his red pen, Congratulations, you’re free!
Free, what did that really mean? If I was free, then why was I here stashed away in the mountains where no one could find me? I felt more like a prisoner then when I had been captured by the enemy on my first assignment. I picked up the phone and pressed, 1; Carter was always, 1 and I was sure that hadn’t changed.
“You finally opened the box I see.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Darian Phillips, always the procrastinator.”
“You know me so well,” then looking at the box’s content now spread across the table, “so...”
“So, what?”
“What’s all this mean?”
“Just what the note says, you’re free; free to do as you please.”
“So, I can step outside this cabin without any fear of an agency sniper putting a bullet in my head?”
“Exactly.”
“Wow, you must have called in some big favors, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, besides it was easier than I thought. I guess I caught the director on a good day.”
“That’s rare.”
“Indeed.”
“What about Alonzo?”
“You were right, he was trying to go legitimate. He brought a file of all his father’s business dealings for the past twenty years. Seems like he was building his own case against the old man.”
“It was true then.”
“What was true?”
“He played nice, but Alonzo hated his father. He blamed him for the death of his mother.”
“He proved that case too. Apparently, Cora Montez had been planning to leave her husband, when her cousin who had been sleeping with the old man betrayed her and told him everything.”
I needed to sit down. I knew how close Alonzo and his mother were. He’d just started middle school when she was killed in a car accident. I remembered him telling me that he suspected something, that her accident wasn’t really an accident. He never elaborated and I never asked him any questions. Everything made sense now; the fact that he wanted to prove himself honorable, the inner conflict with what he did for a living and how he loved me as if he could right the wrongs of his father by how he tried to make me feel safe amid the chaos that was his life. I knew our love would cost more than either one of us could imagine.
“So, who bought the champagne, you or the agency?”
“That was me.”
“Must have cost you a pretty penny; thanks, I didn’t think you cared.”
“Yeah, you did. You’re the daughter that I begged not to join the agency, but you defiantly did anyway.”
“Well, if I had had a father like you, I wouldn’t have felt the need to join the agency. Thank you, Carter, for everything.”
“Why did you?”
“What?”
“Why did you join the agency? With your education and skills, you could have done a dozen other things for ten times the money.”
“I needed to do something that no one else could or would do. I spent my entire life feeling like, like an inconvenience. My parents were too busy to even realize I was around half the time. When I stopped coming home for Christmas, they never asked why.”
“I’m sure your parents missed you when you weren’t around.”
“I know you’re just being kind. My parents...I just wanted to belong and to make a difference. The fact that there was no one at home expecting me, no family, no real family, waiting or depending on me was my biggest asset. The agency used me for the most challenging and dangerous cases because I was fearless and unencumbered by the distractions that can get you killed.”
“Damn Darian, you’re one messed up chick!”
“I know, but you love me, and you’ve taken good care of me over these last ten years.”
“Just doing my job.”
It was silent for the next several minutes as we listened to each other breathe on the phone.
“So, am I really free?”
“You’re really free.”
“I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“In a few months you’ll be a mom.”
“A single parent. My baby’s father doesn’t even know I’m pregnant and after everything that’s happened, I’m sure Alonzo won’t ever speak to me again.”
“You’re the strongest woman I know, this baby will make you even stronger. It’s your chance to be the parent you always wanted.”
“My biggest assignment yet.”
“Take care of yourself kid and you’re welcome to use the cabin for as long as you like.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“For disappointing you.”
“You didn’t disappoint me. Just do me a favor.”
“Of course, anything.”
“Be happy, okay? This work we do sucks you dry and takes everything. You’re one of the lucky ones that’s managed to get out with your life.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
We both laughed, I felt tears welling in my eyes at the thought of never speaking to him again, of never working with him, trusting him to keep me safe. He’d been a godsend and he was more like family that anyone had ever been.
The sound of a helicopter overhead caught my attention and my heart stopped momentarily.
“Carter!”
“Oh yeah I forgot to tell you; you’re getting another delivery, but it’s nothing to worry about.”
“You must have known I’d want to stay awhile, so let me guess, rations?”
“Something like that. Take care of yourself and my god baby.”
Before I could respond the line went dead. I shoved the phone in my pocket and headed toward the door grabbing my coat on the way out. The chopper landed and a tall thin figure stepped onto the snow. I’d know that body anywhere, even dressed in layers of cold weather gear. It was hard restraining myself wanting to run to him but afraid to move. With his head down he headed toward the cabin. Just as he stepped onto the porch the helicopter ascended into the sky and out of sight.
“Alonzo, what are you doing here?”
Was I dreaming? Would the agency send my lover to take my life? After all, I had lied and betrayed him and them.
“Are you going to ask me inside?”
Without a word I turned and headed inside with him close behind. I was shivering, as soon as I turned toward him, he pulled me into his arms; we were both shivering now.
“Alonzo, I’m...”
“Shh...no words”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hard-headed woman, you never could do as you were told. I know, I know.”
“You know what?”
He pulled away slightly, pushing the hood off his head, then looking deep into my eyes he kissed me. We’d always done our best communicating in silence.
“Alonzo, what do you know?”
He placed his hand on my belly that had not yet begun to grow.
“I know you’re carrying my child. I know why you did what you did. I know I love you; I have since the moment we met.”
“But I...”
“Shh...you always have to have the last word.”
“I love you, Alonzo.”
He chuckled before kissing me again and pulling me close against his body. It seemed like forever before we moved or spoke again.
“What are you doing here?” I asked again, “I thought you were in...”
“I have a delivery,” he began before pulling a small box from his pocket.
I gasped at the sight of the velvet box in the palm of his hand. I couldn’t believe my eyes and it dawned on me that Carter had been in on this all along. One last gift from an old protective friend. I watched as Alonzo slowly dropped to his knee in front of me.
“Darian Phillips you have been the source of my greatest joy and the source of my greatest anger. You came into my life with a purpose that was not your own. We both were so sure that we could control the outcome, that we would have the last say, but we were wrong. I know who you are Darian, you are the woman of my dreams, the woman that I cannot live without and the mother of my unborn child.”
Then he opened the box, and I was amazed at the tears now welling in his eyes.
“Marry me, Darian. I need you so that I can smile again, so that I can believe that life is worth living; say, yes, so that I can breathe again.”
Tearfully I shook my head, yes then reaching for him I pulled him to his feet. Gently Alonzo slid the ring with the large diamond on my finger and smiled; his tears matched mine as he pulled me close. I pulled away slightly to look into his eyes. I saw something that I had never seen in the year that I had known him. There was joy and peace in the brown and gold flecks in his eyes that always showed when the light hit them just so. But what struck me the most, what made everything that Carter had said finally make sense; I saw freedom.
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It seems so easy to withdraw from relationships, life, moments. So easy to pretend that memories weren’t made in the name of love and friendship. It’s so easy, but it shouldn’t be.
It shouldn’t be okay to show caring attention to the details of someone’s life when they’re lying on sick beds and the family has been summoned. Then we kick our interest in gear. We want to know the details of why and how. We want to find out who was to blame for the current state of affairs. It shouldn’t be okay, but it is.
Funeral homes and churches packed as we gaze at the stiff over-dressed bodies, that have been vacated by the spirits of our “loved ones.” We’re so eager to rush to the mic and speak of our fondest memories, list the things shared and impact made. This is not the time, or the place to prove our love...but too often it is and ... it’s too late.
I have attended my fair share of funerals in my lifetime, and I’m always irritated at the parade of people rushing down the side aisles of the church and waiting in line with others who proclaim to have known the deceased the best. One by one, the anxious witnesses approach the podium, grip the mic with fervent determination and begin to illuminate on things long past. The speaker is instructed to limit their reflections to no more than two minutes, yet even as they nod their understanding those of us in the pews know too well that the two-minute instruction will soon be forgotten. I can’t help but wonder, why, as I sit, well aware that the bench beneath me was made without any forethought that it would be inadequate to keep me and the others comfortable during times like these.
Two minutes have passed, my butt is aching and still, the speeches of love and respect are at a fever pitch; one trying to out due the previous. I wonder if such effort was made to make sure the dearly departed heard and received the flowers while they were alive and healthy enough to hear, smell and receive them. I can only imagine what it would have felt like to have been held in such high regard while they were still breathing. Hmmm...
I sat at the bedsides of both of my parents during their final days and I found myself doing an internal inventory. Did I make them proud did I disappoint them? Did I say all the things that needed to be said? I loved my parents beyond what made sense, but I wondered if I really let them know. I’m sure they knew when I was upset with them, but I wonder if they knew that most times, I was happy and honored to be their daughter. Did they know that I felt so unworthy and that I was certain that I had let them down? I knew their hopes were so high and so were their expectations...did they forgive me before they took their last breaths?
If I could do it all again. Funny, I think that’s what we are all trying to do when we stand at that podium at that homegoing service. We’re pleading for that second chance, that do-over. We need to publicly declare what we failed to declare during those private moments when there was no one else watching. Our shame and regret prompt us to stand and work our way down the side aisle and stand patiently waiting our turn to say the things that will never be heard by the only one who needed to hear it. It’s too late.
What would happen if our family and friends meant more to us than our egos and fragile feelings? What if we entered into relationships without an option to leave? Perhaps we would be required to adjust and re-evaluate, but we were committed to not cast each other off like last night’s garbage, as if there were other people standing in line to move into those places in our hearts that were already occupied. Evicting people from our hearts and our lives for no apparent reason to the evicted, makes us nothing but slum lords because what we claim to be protecting is nothing, but a wasteland filled with our own garbage that made love and life and peace impossible. We blame everyone else and refuse to take ownership. We convince ourselves that we are the prize even in our broken, messed up, prideful state and it should be a privilege to be in our lives, right? We need to believe that; we have to believe that because we have to be right anything else would destroy us...right?
It’s too late to change the past, too late to speak words of love and appreciation to the dead but there are others who we’ve turned away from, stopped speaking to, stopped showing love to and others we’ve forgotten that if they had not been in our lives even for a little while, things could have been a lot worse. We need to say, I’m sorry. We need to say, forgive me and we need to be honest that it’s nobody’s fault but our own, before it’s too late.
Photo by Toa Heftiba for Unsplash
Colby pretended that he didn’t notice her enter; she was late, and he hated tardiness. Luna sat down and he counted to three before looking up from his notebook.
“I can’t believe you still write everything by hand.”“You’re late, you know I hate it when you’re late.”“I’m sorry besides it’s only ten minutes.”“Only ten minutes? I’ve outlined an entire screenplay in ten minutes! I get it though.”“What, what do you get?”“You’re a disrespectful, ill-mannered, self-centered b-““...watch your mouth...”“...bitch!” he whispered.“Damn all that for ten minutes?”“Unbelievable!” He said shaking his head.“But you love me.”Luna smiled arrogantly at the man across the table. She held her smile watching him as he slowly peeled the wire-rimmed glasses from his face and set them on the opened notebook; this was his thing whenever he was about to say something profound.“Yeah ‘cause if I didn’t, I would have left ten minutes ago.”
Heaven let herself into the small quiet house. It had been a few weeks since she’d been by to see her grandfather. This had always been a place of refuge for her growing up and even now under these circumstances, Heaven felt safe and at peace.
Memories of her childhood flooded her as she slowly walked around the cluttered room. This was the place where her grandfather spent most of his time, reading, watching television, and writing in the old worn-out black leather notebook that never seemed to leave his sight. Even on the occasions when he would travel, the notebook would be tucked under his arm or secured in his backpack and slung over his shoulder.
Heaven’s grandmother Elva had raised her when her parents had abandoned her shortly after her fifth birthday. She was a beautiful woman with skin the color of caramel and thick unruly curls that bounced on her shoulders whenever she moved. The men around the neighborhood loved her but she paid them no mind. That is until Jasper Collins moved into the vacant house around the corner. He was tall and thin with light green eyes and a wide toothy smile.
Jasper had two sons and a daughter that lived on the other side of the country. He didn’t hear from them often and Heaven always wondered why. She could never understand why a man who was so kind and loving very seldom heard from his children.
Heaven’s grandmother and Jasper married a year after they met and the three of them made Jasper’s small house home. It was cramped and Heaven was certain that it was a tough adjustment for the older man to get used to having a rambunctious child running around and turning his world upside down, but he loved Elva and he loved her too.
Heaven lowered her small frame into the worn recliner and closed her eyes. This was the place where her grandfather spent countless hours with his notebook writing, while tuning the rest of the world out. It was during these moments that Heaven and her grandmother left him alone. He was a man who didn’t ask for much and so these moments were the least they could give him. This was the same chair where he would tell her stories of kings and queens and princesses, who were always named Heaven.
Jasper Collins had been her hero and she loved watching her grandmother and the man love and care for each other. Heaven had no blood ties to the man, but he treated her as if she did. She belonged to him, just like his other children who Heaven had seen only a handful of times. They called only on holidays and to ask for money. The three would have to find another ATM, Heaven thought bitterly.
Except for the last three weeks while she was away, Heaven would stop in a few times a week to spend time with him and to make sure that his errands were run, and his cabinets and refrigerator was full. The call from the hospital the night he died broke her heart, and she couldn’t help but feel that she had failed him somehow.
“I’m so sorry, grandpa,” she whispered to herself while scrolling through his phone book for his children’s phone numbers. One by one, she called them, and each call sent her to voicemail. It reminded her that she wasn’t family; they’d each told her so in times past but the fact that they would not answer now, seemed to seal that fact in stone.
Heaven glanced across the room to the dining room table. There sat the black notebook. She could only imagine what her grandfather must have felt not being able to grab it and take it with him as he was rushed out of the house to the hospital. It seemed to beckon for her to come and hesitantly, she stood and took the few steps toward it.
She picked it up and cradled the soft leather to her chest. Suddenly the tears fell and the memories of a man who loved her for no reason and without obligation nearly knocked her down. She loved him too and she missed him. She was angry that his children had given up on him only seeing his value in a check. Even after her grandmother had died a few years ago, Jasper still loved her.
“I love you grandpa; you’re with your girl now, but my heart still hurts!” She moaned the words while the tears made it hard to breathe. Then taking a seat at the table, Heaven opened the book. A small, yellowed business card was clipped to the inside cover. Written across the top in red ink in Jasper’s handwriting were three words, “Call if something happens.” Wiping the tears from her eyes and taking a deep breath she closed the book without going further and, she dialed the number.
The next day, Heaven made the trip downtown. She wondered why a man of such meager means would need an attorney, especially this attorney with offices in the old and prestigious building. She felt grossly under dressed as she pulled the heavy glass doors open and walked inside. The air was heavy and old, but the dated décor was still beautiful and elegant and the woman behind the desk seemed to have been here as long as the building itself.
“May I help you?” The woman followed the trail down her nose then toward Heaven waiting for an answer.
“Yes, I have an appointment to see Mr. Hiram Schwartz.”
The woman nodded knowingly and without looking at an appointment book or computer screen she picked up the phone and pressed a button.
“Have a seat, Mr. Schwartz will be with you in just a moment.”
Seconds later an elderly white-haired man appeared in the lobby. As ridged and suspicious as the receptionist seemed, the man, Hiram Schwartz, was quite the opposite. He smiled sadly with his eyes and gently called her name and waited for her to look up.
“Heaven?”
“Yes,” she stood as he approached her with his hand outstretched. She shook his hand and forced a slight smile in return.
“Please follow me.”
Grabbing her things, she followed the man down the long hallway to a surprisingly small office. The office was filled with wall-to-wall books. Other than the size it looked just as she imagined a lawyer’s office would look.
“Please have a seat. I hope you brought the notebook.”
Heaven wondered why it was so important that she bring it. It was the only thing she had of value left from Jasper and she would fight, if necessary, to keep it.
“Yes Sir, I did,” pulling it from her bag.
“May I?” He saw the fear and the fight in her eyes as she renewed her grip on the notebook. “I’ll give it back, I assure you.”
Heaven handed the man the book and watched him slowly thumb through each page. Every few pages he would stop and smile or chuckle.
“Jasper old friend, you were one of a kind.” He said to himself.
Heaven nodded at the words. She’d watched him so many times at the dining room table or in his recliner, lost in thought and scribbling in the notebook as if his life depended on it.
“Not to be rude, but why am I here? You must know that I was only related to Jasper by marriage.”
“Oh, but you were much more than that to Jasper. He loved you like you were his own blood; maybe more.”
“I loved him too. He was so good to me, the only grandfather I knew, the only father for that matter.”
“Well to answer your question, Jasper left certain instructions in case the time came.”
“You mean his death?” Heaven asked.
“Yes, I was informed shortly after you were that he had passed away.” Hiram watched the young woman wipe away a few tears.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry.”
“Nonsense,” Hiram interrupted. “I can tell he meant a lot to you. He always spoke of you so fondly.”
“Were you and my grandfather, I mean Jasper friends?”
“Yes, yes indeed. We’ve been friends since college and I must be honest, I’m going to miss him deeply.”
“I’ve tried calling Jasper Jr., Elias and Devan but all I get is their voicemails and they haven’t returned my calls.”
“Not to worry, I’ll handle them.” Then Hiram pulled a white envelope from his desk and handed it to Heaven. Puzzled she took it. It had her name written across it in her grandfather’s handwriting which made her gasp.
“I know you’re wondering why I insisted you bring the notebook.”
“Yes.”
“Your grandfather was quite the prolific writer, and this notebook is filled with amazing stories. Before Jasper died, I convinced him to have the stories published and he agreed.”
Heaven looked down at the notebook and for the first time in her life, she began turning the pages. Hiram smiled as he watched the amazement in her eyes as she explored the pages.
“These are the stories he used to tell me when I was a child!”
Hiram nodded, yes.
“He wanted to leave something to the little girl who had meant so much to him. The girl who had grown up to be a remarkable young woman who always cared for him and never ever asked for anything in return.”
Heaven broke down as she continued to thumb through the pages remembering the nights on his lap cuddled close this chest. She could hear his heartbeat speed up as he told her the most amazing stories. It made perfect sense now why he never read them from a book.
“I think you should open the envelope now.”
Heaven slowly closed the notebook, still overcome with what she had seen inside and opened the envelope. It was a check.
“I-I don’t understand. This is a check for twenty-thousand dollars!”
“I found a publisher who wants to publish the stories in your grandfather’s notebook. The twenty-thousand dollars is the advance for the book rights. Jasper wanted you to have it and all the royalties from the book when it’s published.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she said tearfully. “I’m not his blood. Won’t his children fight this?”
“It’s all legal; Jasper made sure of it. There’s nothing anyone can do to change it.”
“Twenty-thousand dollars. He didn’t have to do this for me. I’d give it back right now if it would bring him back.”
“He knew you would say that.” Hiram laughed.
“He did?”
“Yes, you two were kindred spirits, and it didn’t matter if you weren’t related by blood. You two were related by the heart and that’s what really matters in the end.”
Hiram also gave her three envelopes with checks for a thousand dollars each addressed to Jasper’s adult children and even after Heaven left several more detailed messages about their father’s death, it was three days before Jasper, Jr., Elias, and Devan returned her calls. She assumed that their calls were prompted more by the meager amount of their father’s final gift than any concern for a man who had died alone without a chance to make amends or to say goodbye to them.
Heaven had no idea what had gone wrong between Jasper and his family, and she never would. Now her life consisted of fulfilling her grandfather’s wishes of sharing his stories with the world. Stories that had filled her childhood with love and laughter and adventure. Stories of kings and queens and princesses named Heaven. It wasn’t about DNA or blood, but it was everything about the willingness to allow a little orphan girl a place in an old man’s heart that had been created and reserved for her since the beginning of time.
The End.
I am one of the countless grandmothers who are caretakers of grandchildren. While I never expected to be called into service like this, I relish it. I’m sure that many grandparents found their worth affirmed when the COVID-19 pandemic forced the world to reassess everything in our lives. Parents became teachers and providers all at the same time and grandparents were seen as valuable contributors able to step in and take up the slack for parents who needed free, able-bodied back up.
My home became a haven and a school and even though I do not have formal training I became a teacher, counselor, and an educational stand-in to a three-year old that is wise beyond her years. She has refused to let me go into old age gracefully or without a fight. My emotions are stirred and scrambled as I watch her challenge boundaries and calculate the distance between my patience and my sanity. She has kindly and confidently declared that she is the boss and while observing the way she gracefully navigates life, I have to admit she is absolutely correct!
The consequences of spending time with a 3-year-old are that you are forced onto your knees or on the floor to see the world from their level. Funny how the world looks from here.
From a child’s point of view, everything is possible! Barbie can talk, she and Ken have a perfect marriage and their children are named Bluey and Bingo and look like blue and orange puppies.
When I get distracted by the pinging of my cell phone or thoughts of upcoming bills or impending doom, I’m gently pulled back into her world by one sweet phrase, “grandma let’s play!”
The consequences of hanging out with a three-year-old is that I realize that I like to draw and color even if I can’t do either one very well. I understand that it’s not about my skill level and everything about the time and attention and looking into my granddaughter’s eyes when I speak to her and the revelation that she knows when my nods and grunts mean that I’m not paying attention at all.
We must pay attention because if we don’t, we will miss the real meaning of life and purpose that only a child can teach us. The lesson is, is that life is short and sweet and moments with grandchildren are precious because they are precious! They teach us that the truth still matters, and they are perfectly willing to tell it. They also teach us that love is not just reserved for one day in February, that love has nothing to do with color and everything to do with surrendering our hearts to see love in absolutely everything because everything can talk like Barbie and anything and anyone can be your child, even puppies that are blue and orange, and everyone can be family or your best friend! And nothing else matters except hugs and kisses and snacks and eye contact!
When we take the time to look into a child’s eyes, we don’t have to look deep because everything that’s important is front and center. When our grown-up tainted minds and hearts still don’t understand, then all we have to do is wait for that tug on our leg and the sweet request, “grandma let’s play!” I smile and wonder where she has gotten the energy while at the same time praying for more of the same. Then glancing at the clock, I calculate the time between nap time and now, I grab Barbie’s husband from her hand and acquiesce to the truth that yes, she is the boss!
These are the consequences of hanging out from time to time with a three-year-old; you’ll be tired, you’ll feel old, but you will also feel joy beyond anything that makes sense. Finally, I learned that not all consequences are bad, some teach us patience and love and possibilities, and some reintroduce us to the child that still lives inside us.
Now, those are consequences that I can live with!
Excerpt from
K IS FOR KENNEDY
A Love Letter From a Grandmother To A Grandson
Scriptures, Poems & Words of Wisdom for life’s journey
I Wrote You
(A love letter from God)
I wrote you.
Created the page and then I spit your story on the empty surface.
From my imagination I formed your story and breathed life like commas so that your journey would make the world sing and dream of me!
I wrote you.
Made A to Z so that I could explain that you have no explanation except that
You are wonderful and in my image for
when I saw you in my mind
You looked like me.
I wrote you…with limitless indelible ink and then
I read what I had written and I smiled and cried all at the same time.
For I already knew that you would desire
to rise above the paper and above me.
And when you discovered that you could not fly without me you would fall.
I wrote you as I made room for you in my book of purpose
and I loved my creation created to create and be.
You are amazing more than you know or believe and that too makes me cry.
Fearlessly made yet you are fearful.
Powerful yet, powerless and so
your riches, which are your inheritance
lay wasted.
Why? It doesn’t have to be because, I wrote you,
created the paper, the words, the story and when it’s all
said and done, I hold the period to be placed at the end of your story.
I am the strong one.
The one who worries and plans
For everyone else’s care.
The phone rings sounding the alarm
I hear the panic and my heart stands still.
No sacrifice too great.
I am the unofficial manager of lives
All accept my own. There’s no time
You see for me, the strong one.
I listen, I pray standing in the gap.
I fret, lose sleep all in the name of love.
I am the one necessary element in everyone’s lives.
But I’m not.
Not needed for the joys, and thoughts
The parties and the jobs,
Not a factor until something goes wrong.
Then I am to blame
I’m expected to fix
Even if no one has really asked.
It’s my job any how
Besides, who else will do it?
Who else knows how?
I am the strong one.
The one no one calls just to say hi.
The last one content with being last.
It’s okay, really, I don’t need the concern
I freely show others.
I’m strong and that fact is my comfort.
I live an ugly truth no one can know.
Sometimes I am weak, I want to fold
But the calls don’t come.
There are times when I seek
The ear, the shoulder that look.
No one wants to give me what I need.
But I’m the strong one
And because I am strong
I keep smiling, staying on my post.
I often wonder as I caress the nuzzle
Run my finger across the blade or
Toy with the safety cap…
…when will the call come and will
it be
too
late?
Excerpt from:
Messages To The Woman In The Mirror Published April 2020
