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Posts Tagged ‘feelings’

Please check out the Haiku Heights blog and read the inspiring Haiku penned by fellow bloggers. Thank you for another  great word prompt…Gem.

My GEM

precious hands and toes
perfection filled with wonder
my treasure, my child

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JUST BECAUSE!

Three years ago today
I watched you close your eyes for the last time.
Your love surrounds me still.
So many things about you I keep dear,
lovingly folded
within my memory recesses.

They are all part of your huge presence in my life…
your unconditional love,
spitfire personality,
extraordinary sense of humor,
superb cooking,
intuitive advice,
and your compassionate listening ear.
What wisdom that ear held!

Yes, how I miss you, Mom,
and your unselfish love.
You were never stingy with your affection.
You shared it with me,
and
with so many others, too.
Your love and warmth are still very much a part of me.
My heart continues to overflow.

Your wisdom went well beyond
what I see today.
So many pay to learn and think.
Those who are
educated…
college educated,
masters degree educated,
and PhD educated.

Your wisdom was simple and sincere.
Yet,
how many friends
and acquaintances
drew you out, confided in you?
It’s impossible to count.
There were far too many for even me to know.

Thank you for being you.
Thank you for encouraging me
to be my own person,
for encouraging me
as a young girl
to follow my dream of college,
even though
you didn’t know what a ‘classics book list’ was.
And, thank you,
for holding my hand through it all
even though
you had no clue what it felt like.

You were a classic in so many ways,
a true class act,
and,
I am who I am because of you.
You believed in me,
in the person I would become.

You helped me through many
of life’s hard times.
You never judged me, or those
who hurt me.
Thank you for that life lesson.

Most of all,
you were proud of me,
your daughter…
just because!
And,
I am proud to say
thank you, to you,
my mother, my friend…
just because!

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Thank you, Stephanie, of BeKindRewrite, for your Inspiration Monday prompts. It has been some time since I have written, but I just couldn’t resist the title No One Remembers But Me. It took me back to a time long ago, a walk down memory lane.

NO ONE REMEMBERS BUT ME 

When I close my eyes, I see the two of us, Mom and me, sitting together on the enclosed front porch of our small, white, two-story house. The supper dishes are washed and dried. Lunch is put up for Dad’s long day of logging in the woods tomorrow. I can faintly hear Dad talking to Mr. Brud Gilbert, also a logging contractor, as they sit at the kitchen table, the makeshift desk Dad always uses for his part-time bookkeeping work. My sister, Lu Ann, is off playing with her friend, Marlene, and my brother, Ernie, is swinging from the Tarzan rope in the huge tree behind our house.

On this warm and sultry evening there isn’t even a hint of a breeze coming from the porch screen door or the large, wavy, meticulously clean windows that give us a view to all the goings-on around this part of Main Street. The stifling air doesn’t bother us, though, as we sit together watching sporadic traffic pass by. We recognize each car, know who is in it, and know most of what is happening in their lives and the lives of their families. We even know their joys and sorrows on their personal roller coaster ride through life.

Through the screened porch windows we see Mr. and Mrs. Bouvier drive by at all of fifteen miles per hour, perhaps heading to tell someone who has not yet heard, about the invitation they received a few months back to attend John F. Kennedy and his wife, Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy’s presidential inauguration  My paternal grandmother, Mae Lumbert, driving like the hot rod she is, whizzes by in her red VW bug, in a hurry to pick up someone in need of a ride to church services this evening. Mom comments on what a kind woman Grammie is. A couple of minutes later, Butchie Nadeau and Harold Coro fly by on Butchie’s old bike. They both have fishing rods in their hands and Harold is hitching a ride on the front handle bars. We wonder if they are going to crash before they get to the Moose River bridge. Mr. and Mrs. Vincent Smith float by in their large black car. Whenever I see Mr. Smith, it reminds me of the story Dad told me about working for him at Smith’s Hardware Store for a while when he was just out of high school. At the young age of eighteen he needed the work. He was already married to my mom and I was born just after he graduated from school.

Mom looks over at me with a twinkle in her eye, and starts to sing one of her old French songs. The words are coming from deep in her heart. I know them because I always listen intently, not only to her words, but to her voice, a voice untrained to some, but, beautiful to me, and full of love and fun. These are the very songs someone taught her when she was a child sitting with her family and friends on the front piazza at the boarding home her mother, my grandmother, owned and ran.

As she finishes her song, Mom glances my way and asks what the meaning of this song is. I translate the words from French to English for her. She smiles at me, an intimate mother to daughter smile and changes her question. What can we learn from the words of this song? I think for a minute about the song and what it teaches me, what the meaning behind the words are. This song is about a girl who ignores her parents warning not to go dancing on the old rotten wooden bridge. The consequences are disastrous. Sometimes I almost want to cry because some of these French songs are sad. They teach lessons about hard times in life, and hurts and disappointments that result from our choices. We talk a bit about how to make decisions that will benefit us in our own lives.

Mom winks and then starts to sing another French song. This time it is light and funny. I smile and start to sing along with her.  We laugh together because we both know that I can’t carry a tune for the life of me. I can’t even tell the difference between a good singing voice and a bad one. It doesn’t matter, though. Mom loves my voice just the way it is. She always tells me if a song comes from the heart that is what matters.

No one remembers but me…

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This Tanka is written for my friend, Marita. Thinking of you!

Sometimes…

Under the covers
My body warms with the weight
My mind takes a break
When harsh realities speak
My soul refreshes…with time

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KNOWING

Knowing you thrills me
Needing you is not my plan
Loving you is hard
Feeling your heart beating strong
Speaks a hope my soul accepts

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              Leo Veilleux, Charlene Lumbert Bisson, Rollande Veilleux –  August 2010

A GENUINE GOODBYE

Last weekend I drove just under four hours to my hometown, Jackman, a community nestled in the mountains of the northwestern part of Maine. It is a secluded wilderness where beauty surrounds you at every turn. A variety of life, flora and fauna, is abundant and always available to enjoy. No matter where your eyes look, you can see trees, lakes, and forest land. Dirt roads leading into the quiet of the woods can bring you the calm you sometimes crave and a treat you rarely get to see, a glimpse into the world of moose, deer, and bear, along with other members of the animal kingdom.

Jackman is the place my heart will always know as home, where my earliest memories were made, where I learned at a young age the meaning of love, the meaning of family, and the meaning of being genuine.

As I drove past the Attean look-out area a few miles before town, I knew I was getting close. To the left, at a distance, I could see acres of trees surrounded by a pristine blue-gray body of water, Attean Lake. Dozens of different shades of forest greens and browns set the scene. Most painters would consider it a dream to set their canvas up high on the look-out and paint the picturesque setting ahead. For me, it meant only one thing…home. My heart tugged and nostalgia set in. All I could think of was…home, I’m almost home. Memories began flashing through my mind like the old-fashioned View-Master I once owned as a child.

This particular trip was bittersweet. I was not the only one heading north. Many others were also on their way, driving from different parts of Maine, from other states as far away as New York and Connecticut, and even from across the border, in Canada. Our hearts were heavy as we journeyed north, but the heaviness often gave way to thankfulness as we reminded ourselves what a privilege it was to have known someone who so profoundly touched each of our lives

My uncle, Leo Veilleux, was a genuine man. There was not one fake or superficial thing about him.  What we saw was what we got! He was genuine in friendliness, generosity, unselfishness and helpfulness. He also had a deep love for people. This trip home was for him, for his memory, for his family, and for me, too. I wanted to say goodbye to him, to someone I had loved and who had loved me.

His wife of forty-four years, ma tante (my aunt) Rollande, the perfect complement and life partner for him, grew up in Lac Megantic, Canada. She was there, waiting to greet all of us. Standing beside her were their four children and six grandchildren. Visiting was from 8:30 A.M. to 10:00 A.M. with a celebration of his life service at 10:00 A.M., a trip to the cemetery, and then a buffet luncheon for all at a local restaurant.

We arrived at 9:00 A.M. There was a line of people almost out the door by the time we got there and it never stopped. I have never seen anything like it.  By the time 10:00 A.M. came, the front yard was still full of those wanting to express their condolences and inside packed beyond overflowing with over three hundred people sitting as close as possible, and standing in every conceivable corner that could be used.

This was a clear testament to the kind of man my uncle was. Everyone loved him. He made each of us feel comfortable and special.  When he talked with us, he didn’t focus on himself. He turned his attention to us. What a lesson we can all learn just from this one simple life skill.

A number of us then attended a brief ceremony at the cemetery. There was a soldier standing at attention by the grave. A lone bugler stood thirty to fifty yards from the grave playing Taps. They unfolded and then refolded the flag, and gave a final salute as the flag was passed to his wife, Rollande. It was poignant and heart wrenching. His family stood there, in the coolness of the autumn day, their hearts breaking, but together as a unit.

We then went to the Hillcrest restaurant, a beautiful spot on the crest of a hill just outside of town. By the time we arrived from the cemetery, it was packed solid. They had prepared for 260 people, and, again, there was standing room only. I did not mind having to stand. I was proud of the love he was being shown. It was evident by the amount of friends coming to bid him their goodbyes. This was the best kind of reciprocation for his years of genuineness.

Because he worked in the service field, Uncle Leo came into contact with the public on a regular basis. He met many of his out-of-town, life-long friends this way. One person he met while he was working at Pomerleau’s store happened to ask him for advice on how to take care of the deer he had just tagged. My uncle, who was a jack-of-all-trades at the store, had also learned how to butcher and prepare meat. He offered his assistance. That was the beginning of the Veilleux/Paquet friendship. This year marked a friendship twenty-nine years strong for the families. This particular friend’s adult son spoke at the service.

Another person from ‘out of town’ but with a family camp in the area (Ellen Carruthers Darsch, daughter of Lil and Ed Carruthers)  wrote this: “Even when you are not from Jackman, Leo Veilleux always made you feel like you were born there and one of his best friends. Jackman has lost a special person. My heart goes out to Rollande and his family.”

Was there a place you asked him to go with you? Was there a wedding you wanted him to attend? Was there a party waiting for his laugh? Was there someone needing help cutting up a deer or moose? Was there a family in need of food? Was there someone in the hospital who could use a visit?  Was there someone wanting to see a moose for the first time? Was there a new person in town?  Uncle Leo was there for all of them.

Children, too, especially loved Uncle Leo. Ma tante Rollande always cared for children in her home. These children came to love both of them and called them Mama and Papa just as they had heard the Veilleux children, and, then, recently, the Veilleux grandchildren call them. Now, the second generation, children of the parents ma tante had taken care of, were cared by her, too. ‘Papa’ would bring them to pre-school and drop them off. All the other children, when seeing him, would get ready for some serious high-five hand moves. If one of the ‘real’ parents happened to drop off his own child, the children would say, “But where is Papa?”, totally disappointed that their high-five partner wasn’t there today.

When one parent tried to explain to one of the children ma tante cared for how things would be different and explained that ‘Papa’ wasn’t here anymore, those big eyes looked up and said, “But, we have to go over there and hunt for his glasses. Papa needs his glasses to read the newspaper. We can put them near him.”  Yes, out of the mouth of babes real love is manifested.

The Jackman community will feel a huge loss, too. He was on many boards, involved with the ambulance system, the hospital, the Jackman Regional Center and many other things I don’t even know about. He was a huge presence and an asset to the town. Whenever someone called, for whatever reason, he was off and running to help out with whatever was needed.

What defined Uncle Leo best was his love for his wife, his four children and his grandchildren. He showed his love for them at every possible moment. He was a hands-on dad and a hands-on grandfather, too. He took them hunting, and fishing. He picked them up and dropped them off, he attended their games and cheered them on. He was always there and available. Most of all, they had fun being with him. He was a true family man in every way.

Often, at family gatherings, or sometimes when we were just visiting, he would look over at his wife, then turn to all of us and say, “C’est mà femme, la, mà femme!” “That’s my wife, over there, my wife!”  Proud as punch he was of her, of the long marriage they shared and the quiet support she gave him all those years. The two of them truly did become one.

I could easily fill several volumes with stories about Uncle Leo. I did not even come close to showing all the good and positive about him. I could talk much more about his many qualities, his faith, examples of the love others had for him, and the love he showed in return, but I won’t go on.

Instead, I will remember him by keeping him close, deep in my heart. I will remember how I felt as I left my hometown at the end of my weekend, after my time with family. My eyes filled as I thought of this honor in my life. I got to spend time with, and to love…a genuine man.

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Thank you to Stephanie of BeKindRewrite for her prompts. Again, they were all so good. I chose Children’s Prayers with a slight adaptation. This story deals with something many children have had to face. It is true to life and needs to be told for all those young children who deal with things we adults sometimes forget.

A CHILD’S PRAYER

The sobs were coming from a bedroom down the hall, heart wrenching sobs, then gasps for air, sometimes deep, sometimes shallow.

Gina lifted her head from the pillow, and, listening intently, she turned slowly.  She pulled herself up and swung her feet around to the edge of the bed. This was something she never expected to hear.

Swallowing hard, she thought of the many reasons a mother can never get used to the sounds of heartbreak coming from the heart of her child, especially a five-year old, so innocent and loveable.  Her eyes glanced down and saw the brown teddy bear laying next to her feet. She bent, picked it up and hugged it to her chest.

As Gina entered Evan’s bedroom he looked over at her, tears brimming, spilling from his blue eyes and rolling down his cheeks. He pulled the covers over his head.

“Evan, sweetie, can I sit down on your bed next to you?”

“O.K.”

“Can you tell me why you are crying, why you feel so badly now.”

“No.”

Slowly, a blond head with tousled hair peeked up from under the blankets.

“Is it because Daddy isn’t living here any more?”

Her sweet boy’s head disappeared again and the howls of his heart breaking into a million pieces were almost more than she could stand. She lifted his blanket just a bit and put his teddy bear next to his arm and then lifted his arm over his stuffed friend to hug tight. She listened to more of his sobs and his gasping while he tried to catch his breath.

“You know, Evan, Daddy loves you very, very much. He has always told me how special you are to him.  What is the special name he calls you?”.

Evan lifted the blanket and pulled himself up still hugging his little friend.

”His buddy”.

“That’s right. And, I know for a fact,  he doesn’t call anyone else his buddy. That shows how important you are to him and you will always be his buddy, too”.

“But, Mommy, why did Daddy leave me?”

“Remember the other day when you and I went to the beach.  I told you that Daddy is always going to be a part of your life. You will always be able to visit with him and he will come here to visit you. Daddy will always love you.  He hasn’t stopped loving you. He never will.

“But he isn’t here anymore. He left me.”

“Sometimes grown-ups make decisions that are very hard for children to understand. Remember, sweetie, even though he isn’t here anymore you will still see him often. You can call him anytime and when you start kindergarten soon Daddy will be there, too. He can go to your school just like I can. He will never stop seeing you. Never ever stop.”

“Mommy, can I say a prayer for my Daddy?”

“Of course. Let me hold you and Teddy tight.”

“Dear God – Please help my Daddy to come back home. I like it when he tickles me awake and when he cooks I sit on the counter and watch him. I miss him, God. Please, please bring my Daddy back home to me. Amen

As Gina struggled to hold back her tears, she kissed his tear-stained cheek and give him a huge, tight hug.

“Let me tuck you in with Teddy Bear. You know when you feel very sad you can hold him close and kiss him. And when you cry for Daddy, it is ok. Everyone gets sad sometime. There is nothing wrong with that. The important thing to remember is both Daddy and I are your family and we will always love you THIS MUCH, both of us. I will turn off the light now and when you wake up tomorrow morning you can call Daddy to say hi, o.k?”

“I love you Mommy. I feel better. But I still want Daddy to come home again.”

Gina sat on the edge of Evan’s bed caressing his cheeks, those plump cheeks she loved to kiss, and waited until he fell asleep. She watched as his breathing became slow and regular. Then she made her way back to her bedroom, alone.

She shut the door quietly, threw herself on the bed and wept uncontrollably.

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