The Main Thing is to Not Get Excited


hey i missed you today.

I missed having the ability to watch my problems evaporate when your easy laugh wafted through the room.

I missed the way that you would hold my hand in the middle of the night because I was afraid, Lord knows I wish you were here to hold my hand now, because my problems and fears have only gotten bigger and scarier as I cross this path into adulthood.

I missed the way you would have told me you were proud of me and hugged me as I got my first college diploma.

I missed you sitting in your favorite chair turning around and smiling at me as I came to visit your house.

I felt you today.

I felt you today as the warm sun shined down through the trees on the path I was hiking. In the way the daisy’s lined my trail just like the ones we would pick together when I was small.

I felt you today as I drove down sun drenched country roads as the wind whipped through my hair.

I felt you today as I sat by the campfire on a chilly spring night and stared up at the stars that you taught me the names of.




Even after all this time,

I crave you like the crackling soil of earth craves water after the summer of no rain,

I miss you like the sun will forever miss the stars,

I long for you like the trees long for the warmth only spring can wrap them in,

I need you like the wind needs a forest, because after all, if it wasn’t for the shuffling of the trees on a cool autumn day how would anyone know that the pure existence of a breeze,

I desire you like the soft arms of the ocean desire the rough hands of land,

and I thirst for your soul like the poor lad that has gotten lost in the desert searching for anything to quench his undying thirst,

Even after all this time.

The Final days


I remember when they took you there, when they knew it was getting close and you really didn’t have a choice. I remember how the air was a little tighter and the obvious a little more obvious there. When you walked in you could no longer deny what was the next step in the plan of life. That’s how it is on the inside of nursing homes or hospital facilitates, they have a way of making me feel like death is crawling up inside my chest and, out of fear of what would happen if I sit there for too long, I go outside because that is the only place that I can find relief. It’s the only way that I can feel the relief of spitting death out of my chest, by clumsily walking to the outside garden provided (there is always an over done garden usually with some sort of stone looking fountain so maybe I’m not alone in all this) and taking tremendously deep breathes and looking up at the sky as if to remind my body “you are alive, you are alive”, or, maybe its for my soul.

After hours and hours of sitting in a calm colored room filled with deep reds and sun shining on dirt brown, I knew I needed a break. I needed a break from sitting in a room trying to act like the thing that was happening wasn’t really happening. Maybe it was because I couldn’t look in your eyes anymore, or maybe it was because I had to pee, who knows. All I know is I left the room for a stroll around slow death valley, or as people tend to call it, the hospice center. After one too many turns in the maze of halls I somehow got lost. Then the world began to spin, in my frantic search for your room. I got lost in the indoor prison of beige colored walls and, after turning corner and corner and corner they felt like they were closing in. All I could smell were burnt potatoes wafting from everyone’s rooms and families talking softly about what to do and people in their bed dying and going over every little day of their lives wishing they had more but they don’t. And I begin to run because I know that’s you, I know that’s what you are doing and I don’t want to miss a second of you. I don’t want to miss a second of your warmth or the smell of your weathered skin. I don’t want to miss another millisecond of your rough over worked hand holding mine. Running faster and faster I still can’t reach your room and the beige colored walls swallow me up and my lings feel like they are about to rip out of my chest. I can’t miss another minute of your beautifully, cut short life. I run and run along these creme colored walls, along the windowless plaster prison walls in a place that takes no survivors.  I run and run and run, how big could this place be? Finally I hear the all too familiar voice of my mom, I smell the tartness of my grandmas perfume and I see you. I haven’t missed it, that greedy disease hasn’t stolen you away from me just yet. And, before I slip quickly back into that room so I can hold your hand I say a very quiet prayer thanking god for those extra five minutes.

Maybe Romeo and Juliet would have had a better ending if they made it Facebook Official


On speaking to my roommate today our usual conversation of her maybe, kind of, could be boyfriend, continued. We have spent weeks and days gossiping and talking about topic, it didn’t cross my mind that it was even the slightest bit odd, that the confusion of his feelings toward her where simply brought on by something so common. Of course he paid on dates, they even went on dates in the first place, they talked non stop, and he made her feel beautiful. What then, you might ask, would have us so confused. If he showed her affection and made time for her, then why would we question his feelings?  He held her hand in public, and would put an arm around her on the usual double dates to roosters, but something was off. Well, of course he hasn’t yet asked her to be Facebook official. Ahhhh, the all famous phrase, all too many people, including myself, use today. If he doesn’t want to make it Facebook official, does he REALLY even like her, what is he really up too? Has Facebook turned every woman into a FBI Criminal minds analyst? Has making it ‘Facebook official’ made countless women overlook the actual feelings that a man truly has? Has the worrisome journey to try and make a man feel that he must bring up the concept, made us throw actual dating out the window? We women complain on a daily basis that their aren’t enough gentlemen left in the world, but have we scared them all away with our never ending desire to post our could be fairy tale love online?

I think it all bowls down to the generation of today. Fifty years ago, if he brought you flowers, held the door open for you, and kissed you goodnight with the promise of a later date, that would make your world. Today, not so much. We add him on Facebook the night before, and stalk like it was going out of style. We would begin to text them and if they don’t instantly reply, that was it, they either died or they left us for someone else. There is no mystery left in this world, and if he is the slightest bit mysterious, we assume he is a murderer, because I mean what else could be the explanation for someone not posting a status update every 20 minutes.  Today we must know everything that is going on, what he thinks of us and why. Fifty years ago they wrote letters and hoped their love would return them. They didn’t worry about whether he was outside mowing the lawn or what his cat was doing at that exact moment. Today. we have all even coined a phrase ‘ If you really love me then post it on Facebook.’ We spend most of our time consumed with the idea of what someone is thinking about us. What that kid in math class thinks about me, what the cashier in Kroger thinks about me, what the next door neighbor really thinks about me. So its comes as no real shock that if we are worried about what the mailman may think about us, how crazy we will act towards someone whom we really care about. Must we have some sort of online proof that he has declared his profound love for us, I doubt we would even take the all famous declaration of love at the base of our balcony anymore. If your true love was standing outside your window on a foggy night to profess his love, would you call down to him begging he come inside and write it on Facebook instead, so Becky could see how much better your relationship is than hers? Why is it simply so hard for us to enjoy something, like love, by ourselves. Why can we no longer be self assured that he loves us because he tells us, not because he wrote it on my wall today.  If he loves you and shows that he cares about you, isn’t that enough?  Has technology changed the  very idea of romance?

If he takes you out to dinner, talks about the future, and makes your heart beat like it did in the 3rd grade when your crush gave you a dinosaur valentine, do you keep him even if he doesn’t show an interest in the golden token of a public relationship?