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|Image from Globotreks.com. Applause for me..I added this picture using the prong of a fork!|
|Picture by O.R. Cummings' "Street Cars of Boston". Volume 4|
|I was sitting in church watching my friend and her family, knowing that they were visiting briefly, and still mourning the death of their 22 yr.-old son who'd died the year before. Every old friend they hugged must have made the grief unbearable. We cried and I told her I had an idea for a poem about a shooting star because that's who Devin was to everyone. I have miscarried once and that grief was impossible. But having never lost a child I'd given birth to, I did my best with this poem to express what must be unfathomable pain. Today I dedicate this poem and post to Lucy Lenore Johnson, an ancestor of my husband, and her parents Uphard and Elizabeth, who may have welcomed Devin home.|
When I was young and full of hope, and dreamed how things would be,Of how you'd brighten up my life, and how much you'd mean to me,I thought of times still future bound, filling holes I never knewExisted in this mother's heart, until I witnessed you.
Then I looked up. And much to my surprise I was aglow!And I believed no one in the world would ever know,The feelings of one tender heart, stretched to let in blazing light,Changed forever in one cloudless, starry night.
To take in all your beauty, all the mystery you'd leave.But now you're gone, the light grows dim.Alone I'm left to feel... your presence in my memoryThough far away so real.Oh, I never knew the emptiness that you would leave for meWould never leave again, or how hard life now would be.To live and breathe without you, knowing you're no longer here,But brightening anothers sky in some far distant sphere.
But I'll look up,Remembering you crossed my life one night.And I will wishFor strength to make it through another night.I'll wish upon five million starsThat you could stay with me,Knowing that's a wish that for now cannot be.
You are my shooting star for now, although that's hard to bear.I'll hold onto what I have of you, and with each breath I'll dareTo risk to live another day with a leaking, rusty heart,Holding everything together while it's falling all apart.I'll hope a little longer that the day won't last too long.Because the nighttime waits for me. I've known it all along.Each tear I shed makes clearer stars that quietly appear.Your name I'll whisper once again with hope that you are near.
And I'll look up, to trails of glory left as you were passing through.And I'll believeIn future worlds where all the shooting stars I knewWill someday stayAnd seeing me will startPassing to me pieces of my broken heart.Betsy Cross
The grandfather clock that sits across from me has been silent for a while. It's my job to wind it. No one else thinks of it. Maybe I'm the only one who enjoys its chimes. I contemplate getting up to reach for the key, open the glass door, and getting it going again. But I go back to bringing the dead back to life instead.
I've made the trip over the Cape Cod Canal many times. Three times it was to say goodbye through grief and tears and a touch of fear of the new adventure. And three times it was to return home to the familiar sights and smells of home. Each move opened new doors. I don't regret any of them even though they brought their share of pain.But fate is sometimes kind to the courageous.
|Uphard, the dad|
|Elizabeth Johnson, George's mom|
My name's Elizabeth, but I've always been Betsy. I sign my name both ways. My kids think it's time to stick to one of them. HA! Easier said than done! People deciding for me who I am never works for long. Strong people like to make decisions that appear smart, but rarely check in with the heart for its say. And hearts are funny when not listened to. Pay attention to the first sound of a fissure forming and spreading or deal with the consequences forever.