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Brian was the perfect teammate.  We were team parents and out numbered 3-2.  But he was a strong enough player to hold a level playing field.  When bases were loaded, he was the catcher and tagged our children before they could score a run.  His commitment to our team made us strong and we did the best that we could to hold them on base during the teenage years.  But their team was stacked.  Three heavy hitters ready to stand up to the championship team…  Wow!  What an amazing game we all played together.  And I had an outstanding coach.

            But one day, one of their player’s was injured and could no longer play the game.  It was a sad day, the day we realized that we were one team and that one of our star players would not be there to help bring our team back to victory!  We suffered a few bases, but even though we did, we still came out winners….

Krystalyn married the man of her dreams.  She brought 2 new players to the game, Joel and Zoey.  3 runs there.  Sean has gotten sober and is in school to be an oral assistant.  Score 3 more.  I have moved on to be G-Ma and the proudest parent I can be… I scored 3.  Brian fell in love, remarried and shared our family victories.  4 more runs.

            What an awesome team.  We are sad that Brian was injured and cannot play anymore. We will miss our coach. .  But, we are happy he and Jay are together now in the bleachers and keeping score.  We are still winning…. 13-0.
Dedicated to Brian Rourke 9/13/68 – 4/30/13  
I wrote this eulogy for my ex-husband of 20 years....  I feel that it describes our many years together, at the baseball field, through the loss of our son, our divorce, and how to go on from here...  Thank you for being a part of my life through good times and bad, together and apart.  You may have hurt me, but you will always hold a place in my heart.
my body is still warm in the
places where you pressed
  against me as you
****** out from my bones
any ounce of apathy
I might have had left
  and my guts flutter
violently like a moth trapped in a glass box
  and I can't wait
to never have to see you again
because I could love someone who is
seven times better than you
        but right now
    my waist can't stop remembering
    the places your fingers sometimes liked to rest

I suspended my disbelief for you
but you forgot me somewhere
   like a flea
   behind the cigarettes and ******
   behind the pretty girls who tease
   behind the marrow in your knees
but some mornings, you wake up panicked
swollen with the sweat of something you might have once dreamed
empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty
eeeeeeeeeeeemmmmmmppp..tyyyyyyyyyyy
eeeeeeeeeeeemmmmmmppp..ty
that's how I fill up empty today...with more empty.
light's gone away...abrupt.
no use trying....anymore.
dead as a door nail and sillier than a fool.
crazy to believe in hope....nothing to say.
futility is such a CRAP reward!
thanks for reading this drivel...now you've wasted your sweet time.
no essays needed, ok....thx.
go grab a cuppa.
1.
Like a butterfly
You got caught in the net.
Your visions of flight
All twisted in futility.

Refrain:
If only you were not afraid.
No need to have flown away
Oh, just enough to fly (Surrender to the moment)
Fly away into the sun.

2.
A paper soul tears easily
Be free and float away
Guard the final gates
On the way to the Light.

S T, 22 April 2013
Written long time ago.
O, to live in the absence of time
when days are not days, but moments
always begun, never at end
unplanned, uncharted
and remembered
First, if I am comatose for a while pre-death, don't let them call me a fighter.
I'm probably not fighting it.
It's probably the first time I've been able to relax in a decade.

Second, keep my death off the internet.
Tell my friends of my demise with handwritten notes delivered by white-gloved butlers with somber expressions.
Tell my enemies by sitting on their chests and poking them in the forehead repeatedly until they guess how it happened. It shouldn't take long.

Third, my friends from high school will immediately try to design stickers for their car windows with my name on them and a graphic of dance shoes or track shoes or my college mascot.
You are not to allow this.
A sticker denoting the death of a loved one will not keep fellow motorists from noticing that my friends from high school **** at driving.

Not permitted at the funeral:
Gerber daisies
poetry
blue jeans
any ex-boyfriend I refer to by something other than their name (i.e. "the fat hipster I used to hang out with.")

Encouraged at the funeral:
Hugs - everyone must hug
lots of appropriately sad, yet tasteful songs sung by my musically-minded loved ones (may I suggest "In Light of Time" by Phillip E. Silvey?)
And make sure they bury me in the blue dress.

Last, for every story they tell about me where I was kind or selfless or funny or caring,
make sure someone also tells the story where I got too drunk at a frat house and made out with a kid from upstate New York and then spent four hours passed out and/or puking on the floor of the communal bathroom in Ashley's building,
or the one where I punched Savannah in third grade,
or the one where I rolled a car for no particular reason.

Remember me as I was.
1.
I heard the sound of your crying
from a bird.

Animals have souls, too.

Like the moat round Mont St. Michel
The size of the soul
Shrouded by
Accidents of life.


2.
Cobwebs and wax round the candles.

The woods are alive
Pariahs have eyes thrown at them.

Why **** the floor so?
Don't sit with your back to the doorway
Monkey's monocled eyes stare back,
glass orbs, while
Empty chair a-rockin' - a-rockin' - a-rockin' - a

Puppets dance
No solace in the shades
Don't follow the shadows
Which lurk and lead...

Marionettes and tin soldiers
On pedestals long forgot
A dead child's toy chest
A lion in a tallish glass cage.

Little drummer boy, rusted
Plays agitated drum
To match heart beat of......fear
Of drying sweat ....on upper lip.

Dusty frames on the wall
Interfere with flow
Handprint on window frame
Dog barks warning.

Spectre's trudge in mud
Closer...closer...from grave waters
Scream in windowpane: a figure holds
A face of anguish, trapped eternal.

Letters on the wall
Writ in heavy blood
Silhouette of an axe
Windy.....Branch tap on window frame.

Brass door handle turning
Staircase winding up to forever
Gargoyles leer
Leaves on the dry floor....wet footsteps.....


3.
Who knows who dwelt in this place?


Who's hanging from the ceiling?
Whose body....felt that pain?



4.
Then, into head flits one 'I love you'
Of gentle memory
On the lap of the mind
Of a lover
Of a friend.

Grey skies, musky odour.



5.
Then...

Wielding weapon to defend
Against....
The....








Self.



6.
Stop SCREAMINGGGGGGGG!





Star Toucher, 28 March 2013
Ok.
Now, wake up.....lol

Suppose we could not love, deer.

Be kind, gentle and compassionate....don't judge in haste.
Somewhere has my name on it,
            maybe everywhere does.

Like little strips of paper, fortunes from folded cookies.
Master Plan let them go in a gust of Great Plains wind.

I cannot hope to collect every
                                    single
                                                 individual
                              piece                            part
                                                   place                
                                         bit    
                                                     back.
I cannot live unless I try.
This is the stuff of pamphlets,
Stories books and magazines tell
(But always about people who aren't you)
About the girls who walked alone --
Drank too much --
Overpowered.
Not me.
Me -- athletic, fit.
Even feisty, some might say.
I'm not me now, though.
I'm less than a person.
I think of things that can't move --
Garbage bags, hotel pillows.
Me -- quick-witted, smart.
I think of things that can't think.
Can't breathe. I can't.
I wish I couldn't hear.
Choking on my own digust --
With who?
I am not a person.
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