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Grateful for Lilia
My dear, dear Lillia, old soul inside such a young girl:
I adore you, my sweet girl. As I believe there are no coincidences,
I believe it was divine intervention that you came into Eric's life
precisely when he needed you the most. You gave him so much joy.
You gave him the best thing a best friend can give, your unwavering
belief that E was worthy of everything in life that a person
deserves. You gave him fun. You gave him love. When your beloved
dog Sam died of old age, Eric was as devastated as you. He needed to
do something, anything, to share your grief. So, I helped him. I
secured a photograph from your wonderful mom Carla and E picked out a
locket and placed Sam's photo in it. Even though you so creatively
began wearing Sam's collar as your own, E knew instinctively you
needed a little feminine touch for Sam as well. Well, your response
to Eric's gift was just so you. Jumping, yelling, running around the
school showing everyone who would look at your new gift from Eric.
Eric was so excited that his gift made your heart swell, and leap and
sing to the heavens. He couldn't wait to tell me how "crazy" you
went over his "it's just a little locket, I mean, geez, get a grip"
gift. You two were the yin and yang of old soul perfection. You
helped me so very much after E's death, too. Your amazing ability to
understand me, better than any adult ever could, was such a healing
gift. When I told you, Lil, I cannot even buy milk at the grocery
store without bawling. The gallon jug is now just too large and it
hurts to not by the gallon jug. You said "I think you should buy it
anyway, and just drink more milk." I immediately saw the astounding
wisdom in that one sentence. Yes, I drink milk for two now.
Chocolate milk was my favorite and now I probably won't get
osteoporosis because "out of a child's mouth" comes the truth. I
know how very difficult E's passing was/is for you. I don't have to
be actively involved in your life to be bonded to you in our hearts.
I know you have blossomed into the beautiful and fine young woman you
are. I know Eric chose you and you chose him to be friends on Earth
because you both understood so much more than many adults ever do. I
pray you know how very special you were to E. I know you know. I
know E will live on and on through your life, your choices, your
love. This is the miracle of death, that death doesn't really occur
at all. Physical absence hurts a lot, that's for sure. How we both
want to hug that boy. Scream with laughter at the records we used to
play and dance to, E's mom holding the first rap record ever made: a
hip, hop, hippy hop you don't stop rocking to the band man....." for
16 minutes and E's mom knew all the words! You guys learned the
words A LOT faster than I did in college. I love you, sweet Lil.
You made a huge difference in E's life, in my life. You will make a
huge difference in the world, no matter what career choices you make,
no matter what loves you accept. Because you are an old soul. Thank
you, my dear, dear Lilli for being you.
>>>>>>>>>Lilli's Response>>>>>>>>>>>
Teri,
I couldn't have needed what you sent me more than I needed it this year. I miss your presence in my life and I think about you all the time. This year I went to the cemetery on Eric's birthday, as I do every year as tradition. I was lucky enough that my good friend Alison came with me. I thought about you then too. This hardship has made me grow in so many ways I could have never dreamed of and I know he was the one who made me what I am. Without him I could never be as sensitive to my friends problems as I am now and I see the world in so many different ways. I know that wouldn't be possible without him, without you, without the love from the both of you. My heart and soul are always with you guys for that. I have so much to thank you for, to thank him for, but I can't put it all into words quite yet. I love you for everything you are and everything you stand for in my life. remember when these hard things seem like their engulfing you its the ones who love you that will pull you back, as I have learned through experience. You will always find love here. Thank you again for all that you have given me.
with love
Lillia
P. S.
I still wear that "its just a little locket, I mean, geez, get a grip" all the time. It brings me courage and love when I need it most.
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To Die By One's Own Hand
When Someone Takes His Own Life
by
Norman Vincent Peale
In many ways, this seems to be the most tragic form of death. Often the stigma of suicide is what rests most heavily on those left behind...
The Bible warns us not to judge, if we ourselves hope to escape judgment. And I believe that this is the one area that Biblical command especially should be heeded. For how do we know how many valiant battles such a person may have fought and won before he loses that one particular battle? And is it fair that all the good acts and impulses of such a person should be forgotten or blotted out by his final tragic act?
I think our reaction should be one of love and pity, not of condemnation. Perhaps the person was not thinking clearly in his final moments; perhaps he was so driven by emotional whirlwinds that he was incapable of thinking at all. This is terribly sad. But surely it is understandable. All of us have moments when we lose control of ourselves, flashes of temper, or irritation, or selfishness that we later regret. Each one of us, probably, has a final breaking point - or would have if our faith did not sustain us. Life puts far more pressure on some of us than it does on others. Some people have more stamina than others...
My heart goes out to those who are left behind, because I know they suffer terribly...The immediate family of the victim is left wide open to tidal waves of guilt: "What did I fail to do that I should have done? What did I do that was wrong?" To such grieving persons I can only say, "Lift up your heads and your hearts. Surely you did your best. And surely the loved one who is gone did his best, for as long as he could. Remember, now, that his battles and torments are over. Do not judge him, and do not presume to fathom the mind of God where this one of His children is concerned."
A few years ago, when a young man died by his own hand, a service for him was conducted by his pastor, the Reverend West Stephens. What he said that day expresses far more eloquently than I can, the message that I'm trying to convey. Here are some of his words:
"Our friend died on his own battlefield. He was killed in action fighting a civil war. He fought against adversaries that were as real to him as his casket is real to us. They were powerful adversaries. They took toll of his energies and endurance. They exhausted the last vestiges of his courage and his strength. At last these adversaries overwhelmed him. And it appeared
that he had lost the war. But did he? I see a host of victories that he has won!
"For one thing - he has won our admiration - because even if he lost the war, we give him credit for his bravery on the battlefield. And we give him credit for the courage and pride and hope that he used as his weapons as long as he could. We shall remember not his death, but his daily victories gained through his kindnesses and thoughtfulness, through his love for his family and friends...for all things beautiful, lovely, and honorable. We shall remember not his last day of defeat, but we shall remember the many days that he was victorious over overwhelming odds. We shall remember not the years we thought he had left, but the intensity with which he lived the
years that he had. Only God knows what this child of His suffered in the silent skirmishes that took place in his soul. But our consolation is that God does know, and understands."
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Time Stands Still
“Time marches on” is the old cliché. It does march on with fury and determination, but some things stay the same. Your seat is still empty at the dinner table. Your bed is still not slept in. The sound of your laughter is only in our memories. Your photo framed in the family gallery of pictures stays the same while everyone else’s ages. Your phone number never shows on the caller ID. Your clothes are never found in the laundry, your name is hardly mentioned. But time marches on no matter how much we wish we could go back in time to the days when these things were common occurrences.
Somehow we have managed to move along with time. At times it has been a real conscious struggle to keep afloat. We resist, not wanting to leave you in times past. We have managed to survive your death, but we are forever wounded. Sometimes the wound doesn’t show to others. Only to those who really take time to “peer” into the question “how are you?” Those that dare venture and ask the question sincerely waiting for a heartfelt answer are truly special to us. These individuals touch our hearts in that special place where our children still live. They can make us smile and the tears flow without shame, just by acknowledging the pain is still there. They validate our child’s existence.
To have someone mention our child is truly a gift to a bereaved parent. Few are the non-bereaved that will venture to this “special place” and have the courage to enter. You can be assured that the bereaved parent doesn’t forget these instances when permission was given by you to share their son or daughter.
—Karen Cantrell, Frankfort, KY TCF
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What is Love?
The Way of Love
13:1
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, [but have not love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.
So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
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Buddhist Prayer of Loss
Assailed by afflictions, we discover Dharma
And find the way to liberation. Thank you, evil forces!
When sorrows invade the mind, we discover Dharma
And find lasting happiness. Thank you, sorrows!
Through harm caused by spirits we discover Dharma
And find fearlessness. Thank you, ghosts and demons!
Through people's hate we discover Dharma
And find benefits and happiness. Thank you, those who hate us!
Through cruel adversity, we discover Dharma
And find the unchanging way. Thank you, adversity!
Through being impelled to by others, we discover Dharma
And find the essential meaning. Thank you, all who drive us on!
We dedicate our merit to you all, to repay your kindness.
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In the here and now....
It's been a rough day, missing you so much. Every song, every film or TV show just serves as a billboard announcing "Eric is Not Here"....but we know you are very much here, in the here and now.....
February 16, 2007
If fear is the opposite of love, which I have believed and shared that belief with Eric; then explain why I have fear for every child between the ages of 10-20, especially the American children born of priviledge?
We are a very ill country. And we have people among us who are in denial about this---some beloved friends and family members among them; and probably many mothers who need to be in denial in order to cope with their job of mothering these troubled kids of America.
And we fight the good fight. For better schools, for more faith in our lives; for better nutrition and exercise to keep our bodies strong. And yet we are losing the war---to keep our children safe.
We are losing it just as plainly as if we are our ancestors who fled to the great unknown West to build new lives, only to be slaughtered by the very real inhabitants of the West--Indians, and lions, and bears and nature. Only our civilization isn’t unknown. We have built it into what it is today---sophisticated, cultured, informed. And so ignorant.
And what is a person like me to do about it? People who have already suffered the Greatest Consequence of today’s America? We witnessed the death of our child. We saw them dead….we tried to rescue them from death; we buried them. And now we mourn them. We uncover great vision. We see things differently now. We know things. Things that others also know; but choose to deny. Because it is easier. To pretend that our sick culture is not dying, also. To deny death has actually levied death upon our children. In America. The richest, most powerful and developed country in the world.
And then, in the middle of all this dark thought, I remember: I was raising a child with a heart of Gold....wrapped in the skin of a rebel. What a strange and difficult and perfectly charming combination. 13 years of miracle is better than many get in this wild, wild world.
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Songs in the Key of Life
Eric always seemed to enjoy being subjected to my musical interests. Tracy Chapman's Telling Stories was a favorite of 1999. Now, as I listen to Tracy's wise poetry, the songs mean so much more.
IT'S OK
It's OK
Love is only meant for some
I'm the rock
The shoulder you cry on
I keep the walls from falling down
I keep the walls from falling down
I deep the walls from falling down
I'll play it straight
While you laugh and drink and party all night long
I'll designate myself
To be the driver who takes you home
I keep the walls from falling down
I keep the walls from falling down
I keep the walls from falling down
You can be pretty and tragic
I'll try to keep the walls from falling down
You can be beautiful and fabulous
I'll try to keep the walls from falling down
I can't reach the pain you feel
But I'll try to keep the walls from falling down
If you can hold on
Lose your fear
I'll try to keep the walls from falling down
Falling down
Falling down
Where is your saint?
To let you know you're not alone
To bring you peace
Help me be your friend your confidente
And keep the walls from falling down.
Keep the walls from falling down
Keep the walls from falling down
UNSUNG PSALM
There would be psalms sung by a choir
I would have a white robe newly acquired
I'd be at peace and I'd have no desire
If I'd lived right
There would be cherubs with tiny harps arrows and bows
I'd have a halo and flowing white robe
I'd be enfolded by a celestial light
If I'd lived right
But I'm feeling hot and bothered under the collar
I feel the seat breaking out on my brow
I feel the heat and I know it's the passion
The love I can't disavow
If this is a dream wake me up now
If this is a movie let's edit these scenes out
It would be a PG instead of an X-rated life
If I'd lived right
Some would call me a cheat call me liar
Say that I've been defeated by the basest desires
Yes I have strayed and succumbed to my vices
But I tried to live right
But I have no regrets no guilt in my heart
I only feel sadness for any pain that I've caused
I guess I wouldn't bother to worry at all
If I'd lived right
Do you live by the book do you play by the rules?
Do you care what is thought by others about you?
If this day is all that is promised to you
Do you live for the future the present the past?
If there is one thing I know I know I will die
If anyone cares some strnger may critique my life
I may be revered or defamed and decried
But I tried to live right
There would be psalms sung by a choir
I would have a white robe a halo newly acquired
I'd be at peace and I'd have no desire
If I'd lived right
GOD BLESS TRACY CHAPMAN.
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Parades and Lost Sheep
This was a column I wrote (2004) following Eric and my experience as "participants" in the Evergreen Rodeo Parade. It was and remains one of my favorite pieces. It ran in my column "The Human Condition" in the tiny Evergreen Canyon Courier.
Evergreen is Modern-Day Mayberry
by Teri Grove
I love Evergreen. My opinions are typically biased toward my cheerleader-esque devotion to my little mountain town. Last weekend’s Rodeo extravaganza injected a powerful dose of nostalgia for my small-town upbringing in Crawford, Nebraska (population 1,000 counting chickens, dogs and pigs). My folks owned a Gamble store on main street, and the rodeo grounds provided our chief Summer’s entertainment, as Crawford was a regular venue for the PRCA Rodeo Circuit. Since my dad was mayor of Crawford (no big feat, as most of the residents were happy to have anyone who actually wanted the job to have it), he got to be the Rodeo Grand Marshall, which basically entitled him to a giant belt buckle and the chance for me to rub elbows with real rodeo cowboys and queens.
Parades were a big deal in my tiny town. Not elaborate, and the “floats” were definitely home-spun, modest. But my town never met a parade it didn’t like, and a parade was the only thing that could motivate my dad to drag out the cumbersome movie camera and lights to record a slice of life that I now realize was pure Americana.
The Evergreen parade and rodeo reminded me of the things I miss the most about my town, where everyone lovingly embraced the “colorful” Chewy, a war veteran who frequently carried around a pet chicken and always sported a pith helmet; and where Rodeo Queens dressed in sparkely cowgirl suits that rivaled Liberace’s in pizzazz and rendered young girls and old men speechless. My town was made up of cowboys, and at any of the three watering holes on main street, it was not uncommon for children to enjoy a Shirley Temple at the bar with their parents after work. Cowboy life was the life for me, and I learned a lot from listening intently to the adults talk while I quietly drank my Shirley Temple, enjoying the town gossip as much as the maraschino cherry in the bottom of my “cocktail.”
As my son and I cruised around the staging area for the Evergreen Rodeo parade on Saturday, it occurred to me that Evergreen is the small, quaint town of my upbringing, and so much more. While superstores have replaced the mom-and- pop retailers of yesteryear, and farming has become a corporate enterprise, small towns have either died or had to reinvent themselves, which has translated into turning a blind eye toward a prison being built on the outskirts of town for the tax funds it brings in the increasingly common trade off that has become necessary to keep rural towns afloat. Small town living the way I experienced it in the idyllic 60s is now a distant memory. But on Saturday, amidst the pride and showmanship of the parade and its enthusiastic participants and attendees, it struck me like a thunderbolt--- the Spirit of my small town is very much alive and kicking in Evergreen.
When I laid eyes upon our editor and publisher sporting a fuzzy sheep vest and matching “ears,” the tip of his nose blackened to more closely resemble a mutton, I had to laugh at his unabashed boosterism. It reminded me of home, where the town’s lawyer, doctor, plummer and postman all participated in the parade. Where the mayor (my dad), clad only in a blonde wig and substantially padded bra, rode a motorcycle in the parade bearing the sign “I dreamt I went to the Crawford Rodeo wearing only my Maidenform.” Yes, if the publisher of the Evergreen Canyon Courier can proudly sport a sheep costume and march in the parade alongside our little float to promote our “busting out the news,” I’ve surely landed in the perfect small town in which to raise my son.
In a scene that could have come straight from the movie Dumb and Dumber, my son and I missed the departure of our float. While we were joyfully admiring all the other parade entries, we noticed the parade had left without us. No worries, I tell my son, we’re in sheep costumes, we can march in the parade. And so we did---as lost sheep trying desperately to catch up with our flock. Thankfully, we were able to scam some candy off the really generous septic system guys (sorry I didn’t get your company name, I was a little preoccupied with smiling and waving at the crowd to take note) which made my son’s first parade experience actually pretty fun, despite our lameness at missing our float. Even before we were able to throw candy to the crowd, they happily smiled and waved at us, as if we were actually contributing to their parade experience. You gotta love a town that will give you the parade love even when your not pelting them with candy.
After the parade, the rodeo and a nap, a friend and I headed to the Elks Club, so that I could check out the official Rodeo dance. Once again, I was amazed to discover that small town country life can still be found right here in our humble little hamlet. The Elks Club put on the dog once again this year, and the Rodeo Cowboys turned out in droves, reminding me of how great it is to enjoy the view of cowboy exiting a room, sporting a pair of Wranglers.
Ah, the joy of small town living. My friend and I bellied up to the bar and made small talk with a couple of Elks Clubbers, who charmed us with their philosophy of what makes a modern day cowboy. We decided that humility is key, as well as the ability to mend a fence. Using that criteria, my friend, who owns horses but sells insurance by day, qualifies as a cowboy, as do many of our Evergreen neighbors. It occurred to me that during my twelve years living and working in downtown Denver, I never once had a conversation about cowboys, let alone cowboy poets. Denver cocktail chatter almost always centers around your work, your career and your money. Evergreen cocktail talk is much more interesting, because it usually revolves around nature--last week alone I had a few discussions about the bright yellow moon that shined in full force, as well as the the weird sounds a mountain lion makes--like an old lady screaming.
These are the conversations of small town folks who love where they live. I’m one of them. My friend, the cowboy, invited me to ride horses with him the next morning. As we meandered our way through the National Forest, I felt just like a cowgirl, albeit a cowgirl poseur, because I’m not humble, nor can I fix a fence. But I rode that horse, and I was in a constant state of awe at the beauty of my home.
It’s indeed a privilege to live in Evergreen! See you at the next Lakehouse concert (my second favorite small town event)....we can discuss the giant herd of elk who seem to enjoy music and golf. And does anyone know why the elk only come to my house on Sundays when it’s overcast--is there some elk migration intelligence that incorporates barometric pressure and altitude?
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Sisters Mary and Angelina
In The Here and Now
October 11, 2006
Yesterday Mary Jansen and I went to visit with Sister Angelina, who lives in the middle of a prairie dog colony with some other sisters and a dog name Benjamen.
She lad listening ears and a compassionate heart. That is a precious gift to anyone in grief who just feels frustrated that no one wants to hear my story. Or Mary’s story. Mary's son Adam died in precisely the same way Eric did, one year after Eric. Adam was also 13 when he died.
Mary has faced a lot of loss in her life. Her Catholic faith has lifted her into an amazing and beautiful woman and mother and friend and fellow griever. So we talk about the madness of grief:
Why are people so damn insensitive to what I’m feeling? To the clear war between good and evil that is unfolding before our eyes and it is like we are the only ones who can SEE. The rest of the world is blind. And Adam and Eric died for this…..to perpetuate Good Over Evil.
Now Mary and I know that evil is that voice inside our head that says “why didn’t you save him?” “why didn’t you know him well enough to be certain that it was an accident and not a suicide?” What if it was a suicide. Did I kill him with my Passivist beliefs. My refusal to ever believe that evil even existed. And was he always hiding the secret that he thought he was evil. Because he was mentally ill. Or was he spirituality gifted? Touched by Jesus to be mentally ill and to make the world accept Eric, and to always turn the other cheek with Eric.
Turn the Other Cheek. That’s the truth I came out with today, after crying and struggling with the concept of evil and predestination, and that Eric’s life was predestined, and I know that to be my truth. Which isn’t the truth for Sister Angelina. But that’s OK> Because we both know that Eric is safe in the arms of Jesus and that God wants me and Mary to heal, to feel joy, to feel peace.
Amen
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Twice As Nice
They called Eric "Twice Exceptional," meaning he was above average (exceptional) in I.Q. and also posessed a mental disorder, or the "exception to the rule of menal health"... (at first they called it ADHD, then Oppositional Defiant Disorder--which explains Eric's fondness for all things "opposite" in meaning; and then they said it was bi-polar. I say he was touched by God, and was perhaps an angel on Earth.) But I digress.
Eric asked "what's twice exceptional, anyway?!"
"It's like a baked potato. When it's twice-baked, it's like waaaayyyy better than a normal baked potato, I explained. Twice-baked are only served at the best restaurants and they cost, like, $6, not your $1 value menu variety at Wendy's. You, Eric, are a twice-baked potato."
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E.T. and Eric
E.T. was the first movie Eric ever sat through, beginning to end. He was around two-and-a-half when he first saw the movie. Since Eric was an active kid, long movies had never been able to hold his attention. Until E.T. He didn’t just watch it, he was riveted. At the parts where E.T. was sick and it didn’t look like he’d make it home, Eric would bawl...sob...When I tried to turn the movie off, for fear his emotions were too raw to watch, he would protest, loudly, until I allowed him to watch the movie to its completion. And then he would insist on watching it again....and he would wear me down, until I let him. And he loved E.T.
When we took Eric to Disneyworld and MGM in Florida, we went on the E.T. ride. He was open jawed, wide-eyed astounded speechless. He insisted on riding it three times, and then we had to purchase a stuffed E.T. toy in the gift shop. He was hooked on E.T.
Now that Eric is on "the Green Planet"--E.T.’s home--I understand why he was so obsessed with E.T. Eric was an E.T. Eric’s three-year-old self understood he would have to leave his Earth family early. And he was absorbing and reliving E.T.’s dilemma, over and over, so that when it was Eric’s turn to exit, he would remember E.T. Just as everyone on Earth who loved E.T would forever be changed by knowing the mysterious and loving alien, so will we Earthlings love and remember Eric, our extra terrestial. Our Earth explorer who loved, and laughed, and cried and hurt and laughed again.
Thanks for sharing this little memory of Eric.
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Messages From Eric
One of the hardest things (of many) to accept is the finality of death. One moment Eric was alive. The next he was dead. How could one seemingly regular day go so horribly wrong? How could one impulsive act have such irrevokable and unspeakably painful consequences? Eric had to find out, because he was an experiencer, not an observer, of life.
My faith, and my love for Eric have carried me. I've learned, experienced, what eternal life means.
One particularly rough day, about 6 months after Eric's death, I was trying to calm myself by reading a familiar book I've turned to during many darks nights of my soul, Seat of the Soul, by Gary Zukav. I was reading about reincarnation. I was moved by the explanation of how dolphins are going extinct, not because they are "choosing" to die, but because they are exhausted. Dolphins' unusual closeness to humans and their innate understanding of our emotions have taken its toll on the species, and so they are choosing to die so that their collective soul can return to God and become perfect love.
I fell asleep that night feeling that Eric was like the dolphins. Too sensitive to remain here on Earth. To me, Eric was like a dolphin. Engaged, curious, charming, silly, loving. And with eyes that you can swim in.
When I awoke the next morning, I again felt the immediate and familiar stab of pain at the awarness that I had not died in my sleep. Had not somehow just disintegrated from pain and blown off the Earth into Eric's arms. Just the immense weight of being without my son. The "new normal."
I lumbered down into the kitchen and decided to undertake some mindless house cleaning. Little chores at least would keep my mind occupied. In my grief fog, I mindlessly opened the drawer containing the cleaning rags, selected one, grabbed the cleaning spray bottle and went to the front door to begin scrubing the residue of life that had collected on the door during our six years in the house.
Tears flowed, as they often did, as I thought about all the Eric encounters that door had suffered---run ins with skateboards, bikes, ice skates, sticks, swords and the like. When the cloth got dirty, I turned it inside out and began wiping the door. And then I saw it. And it sucked the wind out of me, my knees buckling underneath as I fell to the ground sobbing. The cloth I had been using to clean the door. It was an old shirt of Erics. One he wore on our favorite family vacation to Hawaii. With a huge dolphin on the front.
I knew Eric was sobbing with me. Because in that moment, he was able to prove his eternal life. Eric is not just with me. He reads what I read. He smells what I smell. He sees what I see. He breaths the air I breathe. My heart beats for him.
And so it is. Miraculous and devastating. Eternal life.
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Songs
Yesterday, while driving to an appointment the Green Day song "I Walk Alone" played on the radio. I remembered how you loved that song and knew all the words. It always chokes me up a little when it plays. But yesterday, Ginger, my favorite DJ, made a comment about the song that really struck me. She was commenting on how the song ends so abruptly, saying "it just ends, and it's like there's no expectation that it's going to end at all." Well, I lost it. Had to pull over due to the sobbing. Eric and I had many conversations about music. I gave him an excellent musical education, teaching him my favorites and the classics. We spoke about Ginger, and KBCO, and what makes a good D.J.
Ginger's comment about the abrupt ending felt as if she was talking to me about the abrupt ending of Eric's life....and now I'm the one who Walks Alone. Naturally, Eric was right there with me in the car, and he said "Mom, the song says my shadow walks beside me. I'm your shadow. You can't get rid of me that easily."
And that made me laugh through my tears. No one really walks alone. Love makes that impossible.
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Lizard Love
This is a true story that happened in Japan.
In order to renovate the house, someone in Japan tore open the wall. Japanese houses normally have a hollow space between the wooden walls. When tearing down the walls, he found that there was a lizard stuck there because a nail from outside was hammered into one of its feet. He saw this, felt pity, and at the same time he was curious. When he checked the nail, turns out, it was nailed 10 years ago when the house was first built.
What happened?
The lizard had survived in such a position for 10 years! In a dark wall partition for 10 years without moving, it is impossible and mind boggling. Then he wondered how this lizard survived for 10 years without moving a single step--since its foot was nailed!
So he stopped his work and observed the lizard, what it had been doing,
and what and how it has been eating. Later, not knowing from where it
came, appeared another lizard, with food in its mouth.
Ahh! He was stunned and at the same time, touched deeply.
Another lizard had been feeding the stuck one for the past 10 years...
Such love, such a beautiful love!
Such love happened with this tiny creature...
What can love do?
It can do wonders!
Love can do miracles!
Just think about it; one lizard had been feeding the other one
untiringly for 10 long years, without giving up hope on its partner.
If a small creature like a lizard can love like this...
just imagine how we can love if we try.
~Author Unknown
THE LITTLE UNICORN
By Peggy Kociscin
There lived a little unicorn
(From when the earth was new);
His coat so white it glistened,
His eyes a sparkling blue.
In innocence and beauty
He danced through woods and streams;
The animals danced with him,
His heart aglow with dreams.
He laughed and played with rainbows,
So happy all day through;
He loved to kiss the flowers
As their petals shone with dew.
He wandered through the meadows,
In the moon's soft, silver light;
He loved to gaze at all the stars
That lightened up the night.
He listened to the music of
The birds that graced the trees;
He frolicked with the butterflies,
And raced the gentle breeze.
But as he grew and learned of life
The sparkle in his eye
Grew misty as he realized
Just what it means to cry.
He learned that there were shadows,
In spite of shining sun:
The more he grew, he found that life
Was never always fun.
For now he'd learned of feelings
That come from deep within;
No longer in the "dream world"
Where (for so long) he'd been.
His gentle heart desired but
To know the pleasure of
To give and to receive the very
Precious gift of love.
To love meant happiness, and yet
It also brought him pain;
For those he loved could hurt him
Again, and yet again.
His mother'd held him lovingly
And tried to ease his fears
About the sadness life could bring,
The lonely, bitter tears.
She'd said, "Life is like a mountain,
(And, surely this is true);
That we must climb as best we can,
There's no `around' or `through.'"
The unicorn tried tirelessly,
And gave the climb his best;
He felt it was not good enough,
He felt he'd failed the test.
He could not understand it when
He felt himself rejected,
When all his gentle being asked
Was but to be accepted.
All this was just too much for him,
He knew not what to do;
That he was special as himself
Somehow, he never knew.
His spirit crushed, he felt defeated.
Lonely tears would start;
Not understanding how to love,
It simply broke his heart.
But now he's in a loving place
Where all his pain has ceased;
Where all accept him and his love,
Where all he knows is peace.
A loving Being tells him,
"You're delightful, as you are;"
His spirit free, his brilliance now
Outshines the brightest star.
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[Total of 15 records]
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