Tag Archives: child

The Year of Firsts

The Year of Firsts

Matt candle crop

The year of firsts ends today,

What is this current year?

A year of seconds?

Is there a label for future years?


How did a year pass so fast

And yet so painfully slow?

I relived each day—

Three hundred and sixty-five.


Not wanting to remember,

Not wanting to forget

You walking through the door,

Your smile betraying antics.


We mucked with Mother Nature.

Did we do too much?

Did we do too little?

Guilt consumes my soul.


Flowers withered, trinkets exist,

Photos and memories abound,

Remains encased in silver or bronze

And within a wooden tomb.


A headstone highlights your grave,

Sun dancing upon blue and grey,

But you are as scattered and hidden

As your cans of empty beer.


Nine months I carried you,

Today I carry you ‘round my neck

And within my heart and mind,

Your death etched upon my face.


The first horrid year ends today

But every breath brings more,

You’ll remain an eternal mirage,

Forever unreachable until I die.


Filed under Uncategorized

A Poem of Threes

A mother never expects one of her children to die. Never.

It happened to me.

Three months after the first symptom (which was hardly any symptom at all, really), less than three months after a diagnosis, my son was gone. The nightmare is replayed before me, every day, over and over. I can’t think about him without tearing up, but I don’t want to forget him. I want to remember him, but I’m sick of my tears.

Today, it’s been six months since he left us. Where have the days gone? It seems like yesterday, when too many of us surrounded his hospital bedside, but it also feels like a distant memory, a nightmare, one I never awake from.

There is so much more I want to write, but I can’t. I just can’t.

Poems are therapeutic.


A Poem of Threes

Six months ago today—

Nine months ago—

My life changed.




Is my loss greater?


Feng Shui:

Fuk, Luk, and Sau,

Long life, fame, fortune.


Three-legged toad,

Three wise men,

Three immortals.


Three’s company,

Father, Son, Holy Ghost,

Tall, dark, handsome.


Rules of threes.

Odds better than evens:

Good things come in threes.


But odds beat you:

The Big C.

Despite three hearts.


Rules are meant to be broken,

But rules shouldn’t break—

Not at thirty-six.


Birth, life, death,

Two loving children

Plus one at rest.

Matt candle crop

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

The Spot Writers – “Childhood Dreams” by Kathy L. Price

Welcome to the Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is to use the following five words in a story: candy, whistle, ferry, ring, and kitchen. This week’s contribution is by Kathy L. Price.


Childhood Dreams


She blew into the candy whistle again and again, enjoying the high-pitched sound as well as the delicious taste. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend to hear the seagulls and smell the salty air of the sound.

“Kathy,” her mother called from the kitchen. “Stop that or I’ll take it away from you. Have you finished your homework yet?”

Kathy quit blowing into the whistle but kept it in her mouth, savoring the sweet, cherry flavor. It wasn’t long before the candy had dissolved so much there was no whistle left. That was a huge disappointment because she’d been pretending she was riding on the big ferry which carried them across the water from Fort Myers to the islands. Daydreaming about sunny skies, warm sun, and sand between her toes was a lot more fun than doing math homework.

The two weeks they spent on Sanibel and Captiva every summer, barrier islands off the west coast of Florida, were the absolute best of the whole year. She got to play on the beach every day. She got to see real live dolphins swimming in the ocean; collect perfect, pretty shells which were just lying all over the sand; wade in the water and pretend she was a mermaid. She knew when she was old enough, she was going to get a job at Weeki Wachee Springs and be a real mermaid. Mermaids didn’t need to know anything at all about math. Or maybe she’d be a water skier at Cypress Gardens. There were so many possibilities.

The years passed and the dreams changed. A bridge was built to connect Sanibel Island to the mainland and the ferry service was discontinued. At fourteen, Kathy and her family moved to California, a long, long way from Weeki Wachee Springs. College graduation, marriage, and children of her own changed the course of her life. Many years later, when her little boy blew into his candy whistle, she remembered the ferry and the childhood dreams long dead. She didn’t tell him to stop. She let him blow his whistle for as long as he wanted.



The Spot Writers – our members.

RC Bonitz


Val Muller


 Catherine A. MacKenzie


 Kathy Price






Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized