Monthly Archives: January 2014


It’s not often I get to be an answer to prayer.

I guess that’s not entirely true. My very life is an answer to prayer, to the request of two lonely souls, old for the time for a child, asking their god for a miracle. And so I was born, my mom aged 35 and not supposed to be able to bear children any longer, my father already an old man of 50.

They were expecting a Downs Syndrome baby, or someone deaf or challenged. And so, I suppose I started life as an answer to prayer, born healthy and strong and smart, with bad eyes but passable hearing and with a full compliment of limbs and fingers and toes.

I was on a date with Wash today. We were talking about faith, and god, and the song “Hallelujah” came on the radio. Wash teared up… It’s a song that always makes him cry.

It’s one of the few songs left that make me feel there might, still, maybe, be a god somewhere. “How Great Thou Art” is another one. But, mostly, the hymns leave me sad. They feel empty, with no faith to fill their sails. But “Hallelujah”, that one gets me, every time. Especially if k d lang is singing it. The passion in her voice, the simple instrumentation, it becomes an anthem to us lonely souls here below, longing for the faith we’ve lost and left behind.

It’s not a cry that you hear at night, it’s not someone who’s seen the light, it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah

My mother spent last night pacing the floor. It’s been an awful couple of months for her. She had the flu, which turned into pneumonia, and caused her to lose her voice. I thought we were going to lose her. For a few weeks, her skin was the awful, deathly grey-green that I remember all to well from my father’s last few months. She wouldn’t eat, and wouldn’t leave her apartment, and I was genuinely scared that one day, I’d go up to visit her and find her dead.

I’m not ready to lose her yet I’d think, over and over again. And I hope she’s still breathing when I go up there. Best to go first, in case she’s gone, so the kids don’t find her, and see her like that.

It maybe sounds overdramatic, but I was in the depths of my own depression. And losing my mom was the last thing I could have handled at the time.

I forced her to keep her drs appointment, just before New Years, and drove he there myself. Because to add insult to injury, her silly little red truck had stopped working. She got on antibiotics, and steroids, and she is -mostly- well once more.

But depressed, and unable to leave the house because of that stupid truck and the idiot mechanic she trusted to look after it.

So last night, angry at her god, and pacing the floor, full of worry about her truck, and praying for something to give. While I, in the background, was calling her preacher, and making arrangements for her church to care for her.

They got her to bible study this morning, and her truck to a mechanic they trusted. Whatever you do, Don, I said last night, she can’t know it was me that called you. Fix it, will you, so she doesn’t know I was behind this.

$2000 is what she has spent on that worthless mechanic. And he didn’t check the most basic thing – her battery. It was a dead battery causing all this angst. When she went to pay the bill, she found it already paid for, the men of the church doing, for once, what they were supposed to do, and caring for a widow and seeing to the needs of their flock.

And thirty-four years after my birth, I got to be an answer to my mothers prayer, again, to a god I’m not sure I even believe in any more.



I love you always

When I say “I love you”, I mean it.
It’s not something I shout in passion, and forget the next day.
It’s not something it will say to use you
Or to get something from you that I want.
It’s not a trade or a scam or a con.
It is not temporary, or something I will stop doing.

When I say “I love you”
It is for always.

When I say “I love you”
It means you are important
It means you are forever
It means you are mine.

When I say “I love you”
Which I don’t, not very often,
It is because you have become a part of me
And a part of my world
And a part of my heart.
And even when you are no longer a part of my life
I hold a sacred spot in my being, reserved for your spirit

When I say “I love you”
What I mean is,
Here is my heart, my world, my life, my soul.
You have changed it forever, just by being
And I will never be the same.
Not a day will go by without a thought of you in every hour
And, should we part ways,
I will never stop missing you.

When I say ,”I love you”
I am sharing with you a gift
The only one I can offer
The gift of me
Of who I am, deep inside, in the places no one else sees
My secret soul, the place I am afraid to show too many people
For fear the sacred will be profaned.

When I say “I love you”
It’s because you belong to that secret place
You belong within me
And I within you

When I say “I love you”
It is for always.

Nowhere Man

It’s been 2-1/2 months.

Two and a half months of no longer talking to you. No longer seeing your face, your crooked smile, your sparkling dark brown eyes.

Two and a half months of your name not on the tip of my tongue, of thoughts of you no longer filling my brain, of the memory of your touch on my body.

But, really, we were done before that.

And, really, let’s be honest here, we’d not been close for a very long while. We’d been growing apart, your depression and so many other things eating into us, forcing us apart, like water, when frozen, will slowly work cracks into even the hardest of rocks. Conversations would loop, until we only had the same stock of two or three topics that you felt safe talking about. Intimacy waned, and then whithered, and then died, the sex turning into something we did, once in a while, and never much to anyone’s satisfaction. The pillow talk turning into naps that would leave me sleepless and restless after you left my bed. It was as if the very act of being with me exhausted you, the thought of putting on your date face for too long was too wearing, and you gave up.

It was wrong of me to put those problems aside, thinking that the other people in our lives had problems that took precedence, and maybe if I hadn’t done that, we could still, at least, be friends. But I didn’t realize how rotten things were getting, at the core of us, until the day I realized I was done.

You sat, and told me how I should act and feel, and how I should convince my husband to act and feel, and I realized that your ideals were no longer my ideals, and that your words were not those of the man I loved, but those of a stranger, and I knew, then, that I was done. And it hurt, terribly, awfully, to know that I would love you forever, and not be able to be near the person you had become.

So here it is, that portion of my heart that is still yours, that aches for your soft touch and to hear the deep rumble of your voice. The part that breaks a little every time I refer to us as in the past, a used-to-be, a memory.

The part, that for every minute of the last 2-1/2 months, has missed you, and wants you back, and knows that it can’t ever be.