Archive | January 2012

Nursing my Daughter

 

Picture by Leslie Elliott

 

My heart bursts open

with love and serenity,

hearts beating in time.

 

Baby Annabelle nursing 12 years ago. Hard to believe she is now 12. I remember this day like it was yesterday, I remember her nursing, and kneading my sides with her little fingers. My friend, Leslie took this shot at Maymont in Richmond, VA. Thank you, Leslie, it is nice to look back and remember. She nursed well into toddlerhood, it felt good to nourish her. I have a picture of Weylin (my 16 year old!!) nursing, but I cannot find it. I will look harder, I want to remember, and hold my children close.

 

I am thankful for my children.

Brett Wells

Photo by Jasey Rae Elizabeth Nichols~

As was before birth,

you float in comforting warmth,

living, but not seen.

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This incredible photo is a testament to the fact that we go on, even after we physically die. This was taken at Fern Gully, where Brett Wells spent a lot of time with his friends (it is on his property.)  After his death he appeared as an orb of light on a day when his friends and family gathered there to honor his memory. This proves that he is more than a memory, he is still with us.

Love lives on, and Brett was very much loved. RIP Brett Wells.

Life (written by Brett Wells, the sweet boy who had his life taken at 16)

 

Life, I cannot stand to question it as if it’s an ever flowing cup.

The stars are countless as are my wrong doings, but through all of them you achieve an experience, a bitter taste of wisdom.

We are all measured with great expectations, wealth, and happiness, but life is far more greater.

Go outside, look up at the stars, and just ask yourself, has the beauty of what this Earth holds not succumb to your needs or happiness in life?

Life should be treated to the fullest and not through this greed, selfishness, and never achieving satisfaction. Wars, crusades, and murders are all pointless efforts on gaining anything when all it is, is taking a life, and life is really the true treasure.

Why do we choose items, hypothetical religion, and bloodshed to fight over? When we should be concerting together and treasuring this “life” and enjoying this Earth instead of destroying and eradicating it leaving it naked and salvaged.

Just think about it. It’s time for a change and to do so we must all change.

 

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This was written by Brett Wells, 16 years old. My son’s best friend, the one standing in the middle. (My son is the boy on the right.) It was read at his Memorial Service where my son served as crucifer. He was killed over something insignificant, what a waste.

Tightrope Between Dreams

 

plagued, knowing I am,

on the tightrope between dreams.

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We have all taken this hard, the murder of my son’s best friend. Without going into details I will simply say that I hope justice is served. I try to stay positive, but this has hit too close to home. I usually work things out in my head through words and images. I hope I am not sounding too negative, I know it isn’t a pleasant subject, I am trying to simply live through it. My empathic feelings towards the mother who has lost her child leaves me cold. I am a mess.

 

 

 

 

 

I Remember Over and Over, Unspeakable Pain

Potential destruction sits innocently on the ledge,

there for anyone to claim.

I can’t stop thinking about the boy who was killed,

my son’s best friend. I wake up and remember it is true.

I remember over and over and imagine the unspeakable pain,

his mother is going through.

Since I am a mother, I can’t help but imagine losing one of my own.

Life gets out of hand, and we sometimes don’t realize it until we are staring down the barrel of a gun.

We realize we are holding a live grenade,

not knowing what to do.

He was only 16.

 

When the Rapids Meet the Rocks

When the rapids meet the rocks,

over time and many storms, they becomes smooth to the touch.

 

As I watch a stick float by, slipping over that worn boulder,

I pull at a thread from my unraveling skirt.

It floats through the same pathway, the piece of string I pulled apart,

and threw into the soft wind.

 

If we are only droplets of water, from the vast sea,

and if all the rivers and the rain flow in sync,

are we all the same? If so, what happens to us when we are no longer alive?

Do we become water?

Do we become the tears that are shed for us?

 

It’s easy to philosophically pick apart the meaning of death, of life.

What the fuck do we know?

How many of us really know?

 

When the rapids meet the rocks,

will it prove that life just gets out of hand?

even if you try to keep it simple.

I am thinking so.