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15.3k · Sep 2018
Smile
Deb Jones Sep 2018
People can fall into the habit of feeling low. We can get used to anything,
Especially bad things.
Doesn’t that scare you?

Get up off the floor.
Get dressed in something,
Light and flirty.
We WILL be getting *****.

Did you think the way up is easy?
I am teasing you,
It actually is.
First you raise your eyes

You make eye contact
With the first person you see,
Walking towards you.
They will look back at you.

They will first look confused.
Then look conflicted.
Do they know you
from somewhere?

The social awkwardness
Will try to stifle you.
Don’t drop eye contact,
Don’t blink.

Just slowly smile.
Let the smile calm this stranger
Don’t look away.
This is the best part

As you close the distant
And are ready to pass,
Say casually
“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

The person will relax
And their sweet smile will greet
The next stranger.  
And they will make eye contact.

Something so simple,
Can not only make you feel
Connected and good  
But you have paid it forward

To a stranger.

Let’s all start drawing straight lines
across this crooked world.
7.7k · Dec 2018
Asian Eyes
Deb Jones Dec 2018
A little Asian man
Stood at the counter

He rung up my purchase as my then lover put a male scarf on the countertop

My lover said
Hey babe, Mind buying this for me?

I said sure. Just as the Asian man raised his eyes to meet mine.

His face was expressionless
But his dark inscrutable eyes, which normally I would find difficult to read without an expression to pair....

But I read his eyes as if he were writing words in the air.

Why are you buying that for him?
I thought “It’s only twenty five dollars”

Why does price matter? He asked
“I have the money.
It’s not an issue.”

When was the last time he bought something for you?
“Well, today he bought me orange juice.”

But didn’t you give him the money for it?
“Yes, but...”

But what?

I looked at my lover and instead of telling him the truth I told him I didn’t have the money for it.

Immediately moving my eyes to meet the Asian mans.

I think my lover was embarrassed because I said this in front of the man.

Instead of agreeing he argued. Does it take 2 to argue? Not in this instance.

I paid for my purchase and knowing my lover had money in his wallet I asked him if he still wanted the scarf.

He knew I also had money in my wallet.
So as he understood the question
To mean I was now prepared to buy the scarf for him

He enthusiastically replied yes.

The Asian man’s eyes never left my face.

I told, the man I knew was never going to warm my bed again, that no, I really didn’t want to spend the money.

His face turned red. I could hear the redness in his voice.
“What a ****** thing to do”

The Asian man’s eyes finally left my face and looked at the man I was with.

And he finally spoke.
“May you live in interesting times”

I was slightly disappointed that he had not wished such a blessing to me.

It was only after thinking about it for awhile that day that I realized he actually cursed him.

For me I realized uninteresting meant happiness and peace
7.5k · Mar 2019
Irish Coffee
Deb Jones Mar 2019
Lush emerald hills and sooty old cities
Cathedrals that never lock their doors
The ocean breeze tasted salty
and smelled faintly fishy
Patio restaurants dotted the road
I wandered aimlessly
Yet eventually a destination
found me at our coffee shop
I ordered a cappuccino.
And sent a text
I waited for you to arrive
Moments later you slid into the
seat opposite me.
We both smiled
Pushing my cup
I offered you a drink of my coffee.
A simple, small act of intimacy that felt as huge as inviting you into my bed.
You took a sip and then you took me.
Together we spent the afternoon and evening exploring peaks and valleys we had visited many times before
Loving never gets old
7.4k · Oct 2017
A Mother's Lament
Deb Jones Oct 2017
I carried you for almost 7 months.
A small person in
My small 14 year old body.  
I loved you with passion and fire.
I would whisper songs to you
Because I was not allowed to sing.
I would hold pillows as practice.  
To holding you.
I would read to you in a whisper
Because he was illiterate.
And was jealous I knew how to read.  
I lost you in a bathtub.  
It was the place I crawled to when
I saw the blood.
We didn't have a phone
I couldn't call anyone.
I screamed for my mother
As I clawed at the porcelain.  
I screamed to God
As I clawed at my swollen stomach.
The blood flowed.
I watched it pool at the drain.  
Light at first, watery
Growing darker by the minute
Then begin to flow heavier.
The pressure to push was immense.
I wasn't even knowledgeable enough
To know my ******* would be in the way.
Until I felt your head inside them
I tore them off.  
And you slipped out
Like a little eel.
You were perfect.
I held you and threw my head back
And screamed at the spotted
Rain damaged ceiling.
When I delivered the placenta
I thought my insides were falling out.
I knew before you even came into the
World that you would never see it.
You had stopped moving 5 hours before.
My little girl child.
Who was killed.  
Stomped out of me by her
Own 19 year old father.
Because I refused to iron a shirt for him
To go out on a "Date"
He came home the next morning.
Still high.
I had wrapped you in one of the two
Baby blankets I had.
After I washed both of us in the tub.
Where I marveled at the beauty of you.
All of your tiny fingers.
All of your tiny toes.
The way your legs were a froggy pose.
The roundness of your tummy.
The softness of your palm
Which is where I whispered
I love you over and over again.
I sobbed how sorry I was
Over and over again too.
As I cradled you naked
In my arms.
In that old bathtub
I begged him to bury you.
He refused and left for work.
Ran really. He ran out the door.  
I didn't know it was ******,
I didn't know it was illegal.
So I buried you like I would
A beloved pet.
In my favorite purse.
With you in a diaper
Swaddled tightly in that baby blanket.
Under a tall palm tree.  
Away from the scorched side
That I had burned the month before.
I only had boys after you.
I think you would have
(Loved life) Loved them.
You are only 10 months older
Than your oldest brother.
I still have your baby book
All the notes I wrote for you.
I stopped writing in that book
The day before I had you.
There are no words to say
Nothing that could've been writ
That I haven't said a million times
In my mind and heart daily.
Mine were the only arms that ever held you
Mine were the only eyes that seen you
I will carry you with me every day of my life

I hate ceramic Cherubs.
They remind me too much of you.
You never had a chance to live.
You didn't have a proper death
Beneath the rain stained ceiling
In that ramshackle shack.



I have lost 2 babies. One was stomped out of me at 7 months. One that I miscarried.  

I personally would not have an abortion but I feel that every woman has the right to choose. I will never judge.

I have seen too many women have spontaneous abortions. One memorable one is a 13 year old who delivered a baby at approximately 20 weeks. I intubated and used a resuscitation bag between her legs because the baby was only half delivered. The umbilical cord was wrapped around the child's waist. She didn't survive.

The fetus starts developing the heart, spinal cord, kidneys etc... at about 5 weeks, at 6 weeks the heart starts beating, the baby can have hiccups, **** on their hand and grow fingernails.

I feel very sad that some women don't carry to term. I have had a lot of patients with Down syndrome. They are filled with happy love. And give the most loving hugs. But most also need lifetime care. (Unless extremely high functioning) who will love and protect them after the mother is gone? These are valid thoughts we women have. Not just about the wellbeing of the young baby but the adult child.

I have also supported women who via ultrasounds/sonography find that the baby has Anencephaly. This is not such a rare thing as people think. No brain or the skull is open. The prognosis for a baby like that is typically less than a day after they are born. Some women want to carry to term just to hold their baby. Some women choose to abort.

My sister had a Anencephalic baby. She found out at almost 6 months. She was injected with seaweed to widen the ****** and to absorb the moisture in the ******. Basically killing the baby with salt and suffocation. Then the baby was removed in pieces. I did not tell her the details of what was happening to her body. She would have been traumatized more. And honestly? She wouldn't have wanted to know.

I think the majority of women that choose abortions mourn their child. Your body is  forced into thinking it had a baby. And most women go through a period of postpartum feelings including depression.

I worked for years in NICU. A neonatal intensive care. Some babies were born at 1 pound or less. The thing about working with pediatrics, neonate in particular, is that you see some horrific births. Chromosome anomalies that don't survive to even childhood. And the traumatized parents are heartrending.

Sorry for writing a book. I feel passionate about this subject. I will stop here
I was married at 14. A choice my mother made to emancipate me from the courts as a foster child.
7.4k · Aug 2018
Dreaming
Deb Jones Aug 2018
Dreams are stories we tell ourselves
While we sleep
Every person is our inner tongue
Every object is one
We have once held or saw.
We are the ones that control our dreams
The ones that decide the storyline
The entertainment for the night
The ones that dream
In seemingly random circles
We are the puppet masters
Our memories the stage
Enjoy them.
Even the scary ones.
Enjoy them.
The beauty of our minds are at their finest while we sleep
One of the long list of credentials that I have is as a Registered Sleep Therapist. I think it’s the one I have the most fun with.
And everyone dreams. I watch people sleep. A lot of people just don’t remember their dreams. Did you know that half the population dreams in black and white?
I love my dreams. I dream in conscious vividness.
7.1k · Sep 2017
Dying
Deb Jones Sep 2017
She came to me to die
The last words she said to me
Were as she reached
To cup my cheek
"My baby"
She lay on her side
Facing me
I cried for her
I could see the awareness
in her eyes come and go.
When I knew she was looking at me
I gave her strength
And the words
Let go mama.
John is waiting for you.
Bill is waiting for you
Ashley is waiting for you
Grandma is waiting for you
I smiled as much as I could
Fed her my strength
Her eyes searched mine
Begging me to make it stop
This dying
I gave her stronger doses of morphine
Her kids gathered around her bed
Her children and grandchildren
Every one of us there because she gave us life
They surrounded her bed
But I made sure she could see me.
When the awareness faded I cried bitter tears
But every time she needed me to see her
I looked into her eyes
Encouraging her
Showing her that I was with her
Walking her home
Holding her gaze as I urged her on
Her children that weren't there yet
Called on the phone to tell her she was loved
She begged me with her eyes
I gave her more morphine
Did I give her too much
When she took her last breath
I vomited.
When everyone left the room
and the hospice nurse had come and gone
My sister and I bathed and dressed her.
Her favorite clothes
Then when my sister left the room
I washed her hair and braided it
One last time.
At that moment alone with her
I felt at peace
This woman that had ruled my life as a child
Ruled my life at a distance
Always in my thoughts
Always seeking her approval
I never raised my voice to her
Never cursed in front of her
Listened to her sometimes fantastical stories
Laughed with her
Emulated her
Adored her
Never was annoyed at her rewritten history
A woman who asked me for advice
Who trusted me
Who loved me.
Who bore me.
I am glad I didn't avoid her eyes as she died
It was the last thing I could do
For my mother
6.8k · Aug 2018
Odd Encounter (Adult)
Deb Jones Aug 2018
Once a man asked me back
To his home for after dinner drinks.
I was comfortable with that.
We had went to dinner several times.
I drove my car and followed him.  
We talked for about 30 minutes or so
And I excused myself and went to powder my nose, carrying my handbag.
I was out of the room about 4 minutes.
When I returned he was naked.
He had placed a metal folding chair
In the center of his well lit dining room.
I know my eyes were as big as saucers.
I remember thinking
“This escalated fast”
Doing a pantomime he held up a latex object that looked like a decanter stopper. Oversized. And upside down.
He waved his hand under it as part of his presentation.
Think of a stewardess doing the pantomime of flight safety rules,
Or QVC seller on television.
He then set the item on the metal chair and sat right down on it with an odd
squishy-sucky noise.
Up until that point
I had not moved an inch.  
I am pretty much open minded about ***.
But the whole situation and the mime-like presentation was so much ick I panicked.
I ran out the back door.
I didn’t say a word.
Just ran.
He obviously couldn’t follow me quickly because you know....
He had something up his ****.
If this topic is too much or over the top I will be perfectly ok with deleting it.
6.5k · Jul 2018
I miss that
Deb Jones Jul 2018
I miss the way you laughed
Your head thrown back
And a hearty bellow
Full of mirth
I miss that

I miss the way you whispered in my ear
The sweet music of your voice
Pulling me into sleep
Wrapped in your arms
I miss that so much

I miss your voice
So intelligent and wordy
I would gather your words in my arms
Like bouquets
I miss that too

I miss the way you walked
So sweetly quiet
Making the smallest carbon footstep
With your size 13 shoes
I miss that

I miss your smile
That started at the edges of your mouth
And ended with a small curve of your lips
I miss the pleasure I felt when I made you grin

I miss your touch
The loving sweep of your hand along the curve of my hip
The way we start off making love
And ended up having ***
I miss that

I miss your smell
The way you smelled of sunshine and wind
After going outside
I would bury my face in your shirt or coat
I miss that so much

Most of all I miss us
The way we loved each other
We were a circle of two
Full of passion and purpose

We thought we were invincible
No one could break our bond
Yet they did
We were wrong.

I miss you.
6.1k · May 2018
I miss you so much
Deb Jones May 2018
You were my world
You knew all my secrets
I wrote to you daily
My dreams
My fears
A lot of tears were shed because of you
The conversations you remembered
The photos we shared
My life with you...
The ache in my heart.
You were so **** smart
I dressed you in so many colors
I treated you like a child
I will never again say
"Hey Siri..."
I miss you so much old friend
My sweet iPhone.
5.4k · Jan 2019
The Church In My Head
Deb Jones Jan 2019
When I was a child

Some of the most judgmental and unkind People I ever met were on church pews
Every Sunday with a Hymnal
And a Bible in their hands

I didn’t know how some people
Were able to disassociate their own Shortcomings and cruelty
From their religious
Obligations and convictions
But many were able to do just that

But as a child I couldn’t reconcile
The child abusers
The pedophiles
The rapists
The drug traffickers
The thieves
The alcoholics
The cheaters
The liars

From the people that stood at the pulpits.
The ones I was told to emulate.
The minister
The reverends
The deacons

The word minister embodies
Loving protection

The word reverend invokes
Reverence and inspiration

Doesn’t it?

I was a young adult
Before I realized
Church is for sinners
By that time organized religion
For me?
Was black and soiled.
Repulsive

Here I am now.
I fling mantras out into the world
Of love, hope, compassion,
Good health

I recently walked into
A cathedral in Ireland and cried.
I felt the weight of time and
Countless generations of believers.

Working in the medical field
And specializing in pediatrics
Holding a one pound baby
In my hands
Months before even
The parents were allowed to touch them
I sincerely believe in miracles
I see them almost every day

My church is in my head
Buddhism is in my heart
And in the actions of my hands
The words in my mouth
What my ears hear
The soothing of my soul

The meals I help serve the homeless
The blankets I spread on their cots

I bow my head and listen to prayers
Wherever they are offered
I quietly whisper
My wishes
Into an unknown ear  

I don’t judge many people anymore
My childhood is past
I learned valuable lessons
And peace is mind at last

That doesn’t mean I trust
Easily or broadly
It just means I am an adult
And am responsible

There is some good
In almost everyone
I don’t say that out of naivety
I have danced with monsters

But that’s another tale...
5.2k · Jan 2018
Being me
Deb Jones Jan 2018
Living in the moment
Being mindful
Taking each minute at a time
Being present
Putting down whatever I am doing
When someone is talking to me
Or needs me.
Especially a child
I am making memories
They will remember later on
Especially that they were loved
The sweet sound of a child’s laugher
The music of my life
Closing my eyes and soaking it in
Pretend to be shopping
As a child laughs in another aisle
It seems rare nowadays
The hurried frazzling hustle and bustle
Laugh with your babies
Give them your time
They will return it 10 fold to you someday
Talk about your dreams
Ask them about theirs
Tell them stories
Read them a book
Love them freely
Don’t feel constrained
If they want to go shopping with you in a princess dress and clacking in princess shoes...
Let them
Don’t answer “No” because it’s easier
Listen to their reasons and give them permission
Don’t ever let them forget
You love them
Not for a minute
Not even for a minute
4.9k · Jan 2019
A Life Well Lived
Deb Jones Jan 2019
To be loved
To love

To never forget
We are all but a grain of sand

To never get used to
Unspeakable violence

To see the atrocities in the
World and cry for their pain

To never look away
And pretend we didn’t see

To seek joy
In the most unlikely places

To pursue beauty
Until our eyes are enchanted

To never complicate what is simple
Or simplify what is complicated

To ask why
To ask why!

To never forget
For forgetting is intolerable

To respect strength
Not power

To watch
And try to understand

To never look back on decisions
Already made and done

To know regrets are valuable
If lessons were learned

To meet everyone with a smile
Without judging
Color
Religion
Political views
Or who they love

To overcome
To rise above
And realize
All it takes
Is love

To try to make your life matter
Not in an attempt to gain anything
But in small quiet ways
That make your heart sing

These are the words that define
Us as human beings
Let’s stop wasting us
To overcome
to rise above
and realize
all it takes
is love
~Temporal Fugue
4.7k · May 2018
Forgiveness
Deb Jones May 2018
I thought I forgave you.
I told you I did.

I meant it at the time.
Or thought I spoke the truth.

How casually you mentioned it
In the dark, drinking a beer.

“Remember when we were kids
You said “That’s how kids are”

“Besides” you said.
“It was only touching”

That continued even when
You were home after boot camp

I felt hot in the dark
I thought I had been stamped

Signed, sealed. Validated.
But it wasn’t enough.

You took something that shaped me.
And made it sound like crumbs.

Casually brushed away.
In an adult voice filled with scorn

Minimized.
Justified?

You were 15.
I was 10

Then I was 14
And you were 19

A beautiful boy- man
Loved and admired by all

I know you tried with our sisters.
They all told you no.

I never thought to say no.
Always pretending I was asleep.

Because of your shame
You hated me. I was a pariah.

You didn’t have the willpower
To stop yourself

See, brother of mine.
See how you shaped me?

Now I am an adult
And one of the hats I wear

Is as a **** Crisis counselor
Holding hands in the Emergency Room

During the **** kit examination

Of girls and women
That were ***** or molested in various ways

Various ways.....
With different words to describe what happened

Even different body parts.
How do we treat a young girl

That doesn’t even know
The word ******?

Who thinks that she was ***** where she pees.

For myself?
I did forgive you.

I put a letter in your coffin
You were Thirty-three
I was Twenty-eight

Faulty pistol, bled out,
Two hour wait for the ambulance.

Your head cradled by a woman
Who soothed and comforted you

Surrounded by our father
And dozens of your friends

I forgave you finally.
Completely.

I never stopped loving you.
Is that worth saying?

Why does death feel like
We have to whitewash the truth
4.5k · Jan 2019
Bravery and Cowardice
Deb Jones Jan 2019
When I was a little girl
I would sneak off to the store
And buy candy with pennies.
The store clerk knew my mom
He would always give me the full price Candy and accepted my pennies.

That candy tasted like bravery

When I grew up I would sneak
From men I didn’t want to be with
I wouldn’t call them back.
I wouldn’t return the texts or emails.
I told myself it was easier that way.
Now looking back...

Those escapes tastes like cowardice
4.1k · Aug 2018
Pretty Liars
Deb Jones Aug 2018
People who sincerely
believe they have nothing to hide?
Will still lie to you.
Get used to it.
Expect it.
Assume you are being lied to
until you have proof of the truth.
Then double-check the proof.
And in this we can be confident
A small truth is better then the greatest lie.
And in the reverse,
Every lie has some truth
And the worst lies?
Are the ones we tell ourselves.
I am brutally honest with myself. With no else. Not completely anyway. But it’s always shocking to find I have lied to myself. When long ago I promised myself I would always be honest with me.
4.0k · Sep 2017
Ashley Michelle
Deb Jones Sep 2017
For personal reasons I don't have a deep faith, like most of you have, to wrap around myself like a mantle during a tragedy like this.

And I truly believe that Ashley's death is a tragedy.

I have wrote and rewrote this. Trying to find the right words to tell you how wonderful Ashley is. "Is" because she will live forever in our hearts. There is no "was"

And I finally realized I couldn't. It would take a lifetime. Or 22 years.

This started out to be my commemoration of Ash. Instead it has turned into something I probably won't share entirely.

Because I have lived a long life already, I know how the passing years eventually make grief bearable. How it knocks you to your knees and bends your back. But over time it becomes part of you and you learn to live in a new reality.

No one forgets a loved ones death. You just learn to live with the pain. We absorb it and carry the pain around with us forever.

My new reality is a life without Ashley in it. Where she never gets to grow older. But she also doesn't have to grow sicker. That gives me little solace. As I am selfishly wanting her back.

Type 1 Diabetes killed Ashley. It's an illness that is a battle every day. You fight to get through the day. To do the best you can and then get up the next day and fight the same battle all over again. You don't get a day off. Or a vacation from it. Because if you stop fighting for even one day you will have to fight 100 times harder to get back on track.

Ashley wanted to live a normal life. She wanted to do everything that her friends were doing. And her sister, made that possible. She watched over her, especially the last 2 years. They were together almost every day and night. I am proud of her. She grew into the adult she is by loving and treating Ash like a normal young woman. Adventuring with her.

Ashley lived with me from the time she was a toddler until she was 21. She was a daughter to my heart.

She was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes the very same day I was. She was 18. We learned how to live with it together.

She was doing so well. Only hospitalized a few times. While I was hospitalized monthly.

Her last hospitalization, I picked her up after her discharge. She was still vomiting a lot.

I called and made her an appointment with my Endocrinologist for the next morning.

I want to go back to that minute. The one right before I reached out to touch her shoulder to wake her for the appointment the next morning. The minute before I realized something was wrong.

She wouldn't wake up. I pulled her over, her eyes were open in a blank stare.

By doing chest compressions on her, arguably the scariest experience any loved one can go through, I saved Ashley.

A helicopter landed in one of my fields and flew her to the nearest Trauma Center.

So we could have almost 6 days to say goodbye to her. We are all forever grateful for that.

She was declared brain dead the first day she was in the hospital. But I already knew that.

I am so angry at Ashley's senseless death. Losing a beautiful young girl. One who tried to wrap everyone in a kindness that was her unique specialty.

But, I know Ashley was tired. So very tired. She went 16 days without eating. Only drinking water or juice she vomited back up.

I KNOW how she was just so tired. I know that kind of tiredness. Not only of your body, but of your spirit and soul. When you want to isolate yourself from everyone because it's too much to face. To deal with. There is no bravery or sacrifice. Just the silent chant of pleas. Pleas to make it stop. Pleas for solace. For surcease.

The hospital failed her. Looking at laboratory values versus a patient's physical self.

And I wasn't there to advocate for her. The family that was there with her were scared. And helpless to fix her. How do you hold a hospital accountable, with its anonymous staff, without holding me accountable too?

There are things I should have taught Ashley. How to ask for things she needed. How to demand. How to scream.

But I didn't. I talked with her about things she needed. But I didn't see the ramifications of her not using all avenues to get help. I didn't teach her how to scream.

Even though my screams are just as silent.

I knew she was severely brain damaged the morning I first saw her. But really...I was in denial too.

It helped to be the one all the information was funneled through. But the cost to me was denial. I could explain everything to everyone. Over and over again. To family groups. To individuals as they arrived at the hospital and I walked them down that long corridor to the intensive care.

Using that walk to prepare them. To stand beside so many that came to say goodbye to her. But still suppress my grief into a hot ball that I choked on every day she was on life support.

I could only really grieve the way I needed to once I was alone. My sobs were private. Thinking of Ashley when I went to sleep. And of her when I woke.

Every thing Ashley did during that 6 days she was on life support was talked about. And used to foster hope. The rare blinking of her eyelids. The few tears that coursed down her temples.

I knew they had pressure cuffs on her legs. To help keep her blood pressure up. Until I saw the damage to her legs...I still thought there was a chance. The chance I refused to say outloud. As if I challenged what I knew to be true with false hope.

I knew she had significant brain damage but I still thought there might be a chance she would recover, be a different Ashley than we were used to, an Ashley that would need rehabilitation. An outcome that would allow us to keep her here.

Then I saw her legs. I was alone and noticed the pressure cuffs were off. I lifted the blanket and saw her legs. They were blue and mottled with large sections of skin gone. I knew then that she really was not going to recover.

The surgeon even discussed taking one or both of her legs at the hip in order to save her from the infection. But he said she was too fragile and wouldn't make it through surgery. And even if they did the surgery it would not save her brain injury.

My family and I privately discussed ***** donation for Ash. We knew Ashley would have wanted that too. I called a friend of mine that works with the donor network and she said of course Ashley could be evaluated for any donation. I kept in contact with her while Ashley was in the hospital and asked when we could talk to the ***** donor advocate/liaison. That became a moot point when Ashley started spiking temperatures with the infections ravaging her body.

When she was finally completely off sedation she was unresponsive. That poor baby. That poor, poor baby.

Her brain damage was severe. And her legs were poisoning the rest of her body. She really just stayed for us. To give us a chance to say what we needed to say and what she needed to hear in her final moments. And we held her and told her we were walking with her into the sunlight.

Because I have many medical credentials, I was the one that talked for the family. And then talked for the physicians.

I asked all my family to come to a designated conference room. When I talked to my family about removing her life support there was anger. But as I continued to explain to them there was just a deep inconsolable sadness.

When 4 of the doctors came in I told them we didn't need a rundown of all the reasons to remove her from the ventilator. We had already made our decision.

When we turned the ventilator off she could breathe on her own for a little bit. I told my family that she would go fast. But seeing that she was breathing they all left the room. To smoke, to text, to make phone calls.

After they were gone about 4-5 minutes Ashley's breathing began to slow down. I was the only one in the room. I asked the nurses at the desk to call my family overhead.

They still didn't come back soon enough.

I climbed into the bed with Ash and pulled her into my arms. I rocked her and crooned to her. Told her how loved she was.

She took her last breath in my arms.

When my family funneled back into the room I heard over and over again how Ashley must have waited until they left the room to die so they wouldn't suffer more.

My heart cried. What about me? What about me.

I am supposed to tell people how loved she was. How she shined. I think they all know that already.

I keep trying to commemorate her. To write a speech detailing her life and how much she gave of herself to others. How she was the hub a lot of her family circled around. She was unceasingly happy. She was so loved.

You know what I want to do? I want to scream. I want to rant and rave about the unfairness. Point to other people, people I don't know and say why couldn't they have been taken instead? I don't love them like I do Ash. Point to myself also. Why wasn't I taken?

I will tell everyone what they already know. About how wonderful a person Ashley was and how much we love and miss her. How we will grieve the rest of our lives for her.

The night I came home after Ashley died I went right to my mother. I told her Ashley was gone. And she held me, in the dark, with my head in her lap while I cried. She didn't talk while I sobbed. Just made soothing noises.

And that was what I needed. What my heart craved.

I appreciate everyone that called me just to listen to me cry. Some would not even talk other than the first hello. Just soothing comforting sounds. I won't forget the gift you gave me of just listening to me sobbing.

I want to share something that was happening to me the first 2 months during the time she was on life support and the months after. I have never experienced hallucinations before. But I did during that period.  I would wake up with my arms out to people. In the middle of a conversation. Trying to soothe them. Help them. I don't understand why I needed certain things, like the way I woke while dragging dining chairs in my room. Arguing I needed them when my son tried to stop me. Or the way I would stop breathing in my sleep and knowingly maintain it as long as I could. Or the other private personal things I hallucinated.

I called a psychiatrist and talked to her about what I was experiencing. And she told me that it was normal. It stopped after about 2 months.

Part of me knows I was trying to carry the grief I knew my sister and her kids were trying to carry. If I could, I would take their grief and add it to mine. Just to give them some peace.

My niece, Ashley's sister had a little girl a month ago. Her name is Ashley Michelle.

There is no death, only a change of worlds. —NATIVE AMERICAN PROVERB
September 20 was the first Anniversary of Ashley's death day.
4.0k · Dec 2018
Carmela
Deb Jones Dec 2018
I have loved you all your life
The little girl that bloomed into
A child that was deeply introspective
The wisdom that was always
Reflected in your eyes.
You are beautiful
With your dark hair
Your dark eyes
The Italian in you
The artistry of you.
There is nothing you can’t do.
I not only love you
But I am deeply in awe of you
I laugh with you like no other
You fill my heart
With gladness
That you are part of me
And always will be
You are so beautiful
I want you to see yourself
Through my unclouded eyes
The exotic beauty of you
The big heart you carry
The caring you have for
Everyone you love
And the protective umbrella
That expands to cover all
Your loved ones
The way you focus
On whoever you are talking to
Making them feel
As if they are the most importan
Person you have ever met
People are drawn to you.
Circling you like a sun
You are grounded
And one of the most intelligent
Of all the people I know
You know a little
About so many things
And a lot about so many  
Big things
With you I have no shame
I know my words are safe
You carry me in your heart
Just like I carry you in mine
Can’t you see yourself like I do?
Exotically beautiful
So charming
So interesting
So strong
So wonderful
I am so proud of the woman
You have become
I am so blessed
To have you as my sister
3.7k · Jan 2019
2018-2019
Deb Jones Jan 2019
Taking off my worn cloak
I wore you well this past year
There wasn’t much
That we didn’t handle
While I wore you as my mantle
I fold you up
All patched and thin
Farewell my old friend
I won’t forget the comfort
You enveloped me in

My new cloak feels a little awkward
Most fledglings do
Still I am homesick...
Goodbye 2018
3.7k · Oct 2017
My sons
Deb Jones Oct 2017
I raised 3 boys
A kid having kids
Unto them I poured
All my love
I didn't have a mentor
Someone I could emulate
So I made things up
As I went along
Some things I got right
Some things I got wrong
Self help books
Filled my shelves
My boys would mutter
"Mom, got a new book"
When I implemented
Any new rules
My boys are men now
And I have a special bond
With each one of them
The late night calls
That last for hours
The tears they only show me
The heartbreaks I have soothed
The times they wanted me to just listen
The men they have become
I am so proud of every one
They adore me
They laugh at my quirks
They walk by my side with pride
Because I walk by theirs
Feeling the same
They are beautiful in my eyes
And I tell them so every chance
I get
Never will they doubt my love.
I make sure of that!
3.3k · Jan 2018
Battle Scars
Deb Jones Jan 2018
We all have battle scars.
We can heal the wounds on our bodies, but we can’t heal the wounds of the soul. The scars they leave are there forever. We have to learn to live with them. We have to choose to live beyond them.
3.0k · Oct 2017
Mother Nature Is Raging
Deb Jones Oct 2017
Cataclysmic entities
Earth, wind, water and Fire
Have joined forces
To teach us a life lesson
About taking them for granted
Earthquakes
Hurricanes
Tsunamis and flooding
Fires burning so fast people
Can't evacuate soon enough.
It feels like Biblical prophesies
Are happening so fast
How many of us will outlast
This chapter in our lives
We are scarring our land
With fissures
With withered shrubs
With thousands of acres filled
With blackened stumps
With flooded cities
With mud and mold
With countries devastated
With yet still, talk of nuclear war
With so many people
Without the simple basics
Without water to drink
Without food to eat
Things we normally take for granted
My states treasures are burning so fast.
Napa Valley has been wiped out
So many deaths and lives left
Unaccounted for...
The blind and deaf elderly
Woman who died in her driveway
The 26 year old wheelchair bound
Woman who was forgotten by her own father.
The elderly couple trying to save
One another
But the fires were burning to hot and fast.
Miniature Stephen King stories
Of unimaginable horror and pain.
But yet...
The mass shootings carry on too
The police accused of brutality
While still trying to save others
It's never enough
The Trump pretense
The microphones ****** in the faces of people during the lowest point in their lives
And yet...
The undauntable human spirit
Continues to thrive.
The rescued, the rescuers.
The beleaguered, the relievers
The respect.
Media, leave us alone to try and Fix our homes and hearts.
Don't feed on our immediate pain
But don't go too far
Just wait until we are ready...
For our close ups
2.9k · Sep 2017
Surfers
Deb Jones Sep 2017
I stood on the pier and watched the ocean
The waves crashing unto the shore

The kids and dogs playing in the surf
The distant sounds of laughter
carried on the wind...

And the surfers almost below me

The way they tracked the waves
While straddling their boards

Watching the waves build

Pushing the tip of their board down
To dive under them like seals

Waiting for the one they will ride to shore

So isolated from each other

So solitary in their sport

I wondered, do they think about anything important?
Ponder anything heavy?

Or do they just wait for the next wave?

And the only decision they have to make

Is whether to dive under it
Or let the tip of the board rise

Above the crest of the wave
And ride it

When your thoughts are in another place or time,
Your actions lose much of their effectiveness.

I think surfers must be in the moment
Only thinking about the next wave

And the possibility that it
Will be the one worth riding

And maybe a brief moment of regret
That the one they just let pass

May have been an opportunity

But just a brief and fleeting thought....

Because the next wave is already approaching
Watching the surfers one day.
2.7k · Mar 2018
Magpie
Deb Jones Mar 2018
She seems like a bumble bee
Quick and flighty

Her eyes always flitting
Her gaze ever flirty

People are drawn to her
They love her liveliness and charm

Her attention casually given
So lovely and warm

Her words are like wine
You feel heady and drunk

You want to be closer
To be noticed and loved

It's so warm
That attention of hers

But she is looking for treasures
Assessing worth

She collects hearts
No matter the cost

Being caught in her net
Doesn't feel bad

The knowing look in her eyes
Doesn't offend

It's like having a secret
Unknown to the rest

What no one sees
Is that gaze they admire

Is furtive and restless
Tallying the tolls

Assessing treasures
To line her nest

Taking and using
Her charm is all gilt

A thin layer of gold
Covering her soul

Do you never wonder why
Most of her crowd are men?

She is a Magpie
She has collected you
2.7k · Sep 2017
Gloaming Time
Deb Jones Sep 2017
Life is rushing by me.
Faster than I can run
Daily affirmations bind me
And I can't complete even one
Everything overwhelms me
I can't get anything done
I look at the colossal effort
And I am exhausted before I have begun
It's a beautiful day outside
The birds all singing out of tune
The cacophony of songs should make me wince
But it's sweet on my nerves
Maybe this is what I should do
Sit on the swing and just listen
Stop thinking...
Stop reacting...
Stop reaching...

Stop letting my sick body dictate my mood.
I can bear anything if only there is an end in sight.
It's hard to be cheerful for more than minutes at a time.
There is no light for me.
There is no dignity.
It's my gloaming time.
The twilight of my life
I have Type 1 Diabetes. I wrote this during one of many many times I have felt down
2.5k · Dec 2018
Firsts
Deb Jones Dec 2018
First Candy
My mouth still remembers
The sweetness on my tongue
I was three
It was a candy aptly named
A “Bit-O-Honey”
It’s still a favorite

First Near Death
Our home was on fire
I was five
My older sister and I
Ran to my mother’s room
She hid under the bed
I hid behind the door
My mother truly
Used herculean strength
To move a propane tank
Beside the window
To get to us

First Secret
My brother

First Authority
I remember the day
I realized I had a parent
One that controlled my actions
And punished too
The day I felt fear
I was three or four
And climbed under the house
So far in. Like a mouse
No adult could reach me
The grownups pried up the floor
I was comforted
My older brother was spanked
(Irish Twin)
He was only 11 months older than I was

First Butterflies
I knew he liked me
A light skinned black boy
Every time I stuck my head out
The school bus window
He did too.
So he could see me.
His sweet little face
Carried in my heart forever.
Even though we never
Exchanged even one word
I was six

First Male Touch
Sodomized
Adult male
Son of my mother’s best friends
11 surgeries
And a entire school year

First Fight
My sister stole clothes
Off the line of our nearest Neighbors
A mile away
Unique looking jeans
And a blouse
She wore them to school
The next day
The girl confronted
Her on the bus
I had to fight the girl
Because we were not
A family of thieves
Just a family that had thieves

First ******
I fainted

First Kiss
Charles.
He was fourteen
I was thirteen
His hands cupped my cheeks
As he lowered his lips to mine
The flick of his tongue
Was a surprise
He wrote me for several years
Beautiful love letters
I would hide them

First Thrill
On the rooftop of a speeding car
Hanging by my fingertips
On to the rooftop
Where it met the windshield
Another boy.
He was nineteen to my thirteen
He kissed me at 50 mph
My brother was driving

First Public Lie
I went door to door
Asking people to donate
Money to buy mice
For Cancer research
I fed my siblings that week
I was twelve

First Shame
I brought home a girl
From school
To stay the night.
Even though I thought
Our house looked ok
My father came home
And said
“Aren’t you ashamed?”
And right then I saw our lives
Through the eyes of another
And my father was right
She told everyone at school
What we did and didn’t have.

First Stroke
A hard punch to my temple
So was the second
And third
Fourth
5th
...

First Pride
Teaching myself to drive
Three on the tree
In a 47 ford
With a chain steering wheel
Glued to the steering column.

First Baby
She’s in my purse
Wrapped in pillowcases
In the ground

First Beg
Please let me come stay with you momma.
“No”

First True Love
No other love came close
To the feelings flowing
Through me
As I held my first son
And the second
Then the third

First Panic
Seeing my four year old son
As I raced down the street
To the woman racing
Toward me holding my child
Bloodied and unconscious
In her arms
My throat closed on screams

First Adult Love
I had loved others before him
But he taught me
How to be cherished
He painted my name
And the date on his wall
In letters taller than me
And he sealed the wall
And built cabinets
That will never be moved
We love each other still

First Motorcycle Ride
My thighs cradling his hips
The feel of his hand
Caressing my calves
At every stoplight
Silently falling in love

First Professional Pride
My career
The wall of framed degrees
I will turn away a personal compliment.
But never a compliment
About my accomplishments

First Pets
I always poured my heart
And tears
Into and unto my dogs
Angel, Benji, Gizmo, Baby
Dobie, Mandy, Cheona
Nora, Jackie, Gus, Callie
So many, many more.

First Drugs
Marijuana more than a few times
Hash once
Formaldehyde (***), Juice
Did once.
So many terrifying hallucinations
******* once

First Emotional Pain
I told my husband
We needed to see a counselor
As soon as possible
He refused.
He didn’t understand
How serious it all was
Suddenly serious
I left this man that I still love
Two weeks later

First Heartsick Pain
I told a man I loved him
He didn’t tell me he loved me
Until a year to the day
We first met
He broke something
Inside me that year

First *** with a Younger Man
He was done, I wasn’t
He moaned for me
To help me out
I opened one eye in a slit
His moaning turned to panting
I think he watched a lot of ****

First Time I said No
And meant it.
I was supposed to pick up
Prints from a Christmas party
He was naked
And drug me around his house
I still had my purse
On my shoulder
As he came all over my dress

First Dance Trophies
West coast swing
East coast swing
Two-Step
10-Step
Schottishe
Dancing the “Neon Moon” naked

First Disillusionment
The man I married at fourteen
Was having *** with a woman
Who asked me to babysit
Her kids that night
I did. I watched her two children.
He reeked of her perfume.

First Song
Always and Forever
By the Heatwave
Our song you said
How young we were

First Stage Fright
I gave a performance at school
It was a great hit
I was ashamed
I published the story about it
Twenty-five years later
It was a great hit

First Justice
Was no justice at all
Attacked on my patio
Saved by a neighbor
He was out the next week
About the same time
The swelling went down
On my “cauliflower” ear

First Adult Stage Fright
I took a summer off
Of my medical career
And DJ’d at a different club
During days of the week.
When no one had requests
I was required to sing.
It’s what I was hired to do.
Especially the piano bars
In San Francisco

First Deaths
My Brother
My Father
My Niece
My Mother
My Sister
It feels like a first each time

First Songs
Drops of Jupiter
By Train
From my sons to me.
Wild Horses
By Jewel
From me to my sons

So many firsts.
We are destined to repeat them
Only some of them
Are worthy of repeating
May Mercy spare us
On some Seconds
2.5k · Jan 2019
Heartache
Deb Jones Jan 2019
This is my heartache
To bear witness, to listen
As one of my adult sons
Cries from a heartbreak
Only to me will they cry
As I make soothing noises
Deb Jones Mar 2019
I am going to assume most of you may already know this but if you buy or are given opioids from people you don’t know well enough to trust or even people you trust who may not know better....

They look exactly like OxyContin or Vicodin, Percocet, Xanex but they may be homemade and cut with Fentanyl.

They get the Fentanyl from China.

People can buy a pill maker from amazon or eBay and also the stamps that imprint on the pills and you can’t tell them apart from the real pharmaceutical medications.

****** is derived from morphine. But Fentanyl is  morphine-like except 50-100 times more powerful.

Because the drug pushers are cutting them with synthetic made Fentanyl they are not monitoring the amount of Fentanyl they are using.

One kid was given a xanex because he was having problems sleeping. He took a quarter of the pill. He died in his sleep.

We are having an epic crisis. 64,000 in 2016. Think about that for a minute.
66% of those deaths were due to Fentanyl.

A tiny amount of Fentanyl...less than a speck of loose powder can ****.

In one small college town there were over 20 overdoses in one night. One was a woman that took one Vicodin to sleep and she OD’d on Fentanyl that she didn’t even know she was taking. Just one pill can **** you.

The government is even looking at Fentanyl as a drug to use as a lethal injection for death row inmates.

I was given Fentanyl once about 6 months ago for a kidney stone. I melted into the bed and knew my breathing was shallow. The next few hours I couldn’t even keep my oxygen level up. They gave me oxygen and my heart rate slowed significantly. I had to be told to take a deep breath over and over again. When I was finally able to feel like I could express myself, I told them never, ever again.

Please tell your kids not to accept pills from anyone. I know we already have those talks with them. But really say it more than once.

At $9 a pop per fake Vicodin even preteens are using them.

If you have read this so far then I just want to say one other thing.

Prince died of Fentanyl toxicity. But the only pills they found in his home was Vicodin. He became addicted after a hip replacement. A man that would not allow drugs around him. When tested they were fake and all the ones tested were lethal doses. 1 pill.

Deb.
2.3k · Aug 2018
Hurt
Deb Jones Aug 2018
Hurt isn’t clean.
It’s rot.
It makes strangers
Of everyone
You thought you loved.
Once hurt touches you
You are on your own.
It doesn’t matter
What hurt it is
That leaves a hole in you.  
All that stuff, they say
About emotional damage
Bringing people together?
Forget it.
Hurt surrounds
You with such
A powerful force field
Of misery,
That no one else can enter.  
I know, I have been there too.
You don’t get over it.
If you are doing well,
You get used to it.
You save it for silence,
For darkness,
For three o’clock in the morning
When you can’t sleep.
When you are alone
You feel heavier. As if gravity
Is your punishment too.
That’s the paradox of loss:
How can something that’s gone
Weigh us down so much?  
We only find answers
When we are ready to hear them.
That’s when you know
You are healing.
You will experience hurt.
It’s part of life.
Lessons to learn,
About love.  
There are a lot of people
That get stuck
In misery for years.  
Live lightly,
Live completely in the present
Don’t look back
And when you forget
Take that hot ball of pain
And grieve
I hope it gets smaller
Every time you acknowledge it.
2.3k · Sep 2017
Endless Hope
Deb Jones Sep 2017
I don't want to live rooted in fear.
I want to look at the world and marvel at the mystery of my mere existence.

Imagine that of all the gametes and zygotes that could have been. I was the lucky one.

I was born for wonder. For joy and love. And for endless hope.

I want to seek truth and meaning,

I want to acquire the wisdom to appreciate that I have no one or anything to blame for what my body is going through. That I am not being punished for anything.

Every moment of my life is filled with profound meaning. If I don't treat it meaningful, then I am wasting time I will never get back.

My life has value. Every life has value. What path I choose to take every day is filled with opportunities.

I can choose to make someone smile by something so simple as a deserved compliment. Acknowledging they are important to me. I see them.

It's so easy to make someone's day brighter. It's harder to say something snide or mean and make them feel unwanted, unwelcome, unloved, unappreciated.

Sometimes, just being silent. The void that silence makes will be filled with thoughts of malice in some people.

Being unkind is heavy. Being unkind takes effort.
I try and keep that in mind.

I love words. They shape me. My words shape others. Kindness comes easy. I try to fill the silent void with appreciation and love.

Even if it's just a touch. Or a ****** expression. I am communicating. When I smile at a seven week old baby and he smiles back at me we are communicating.

At that moment my little corner of the world is brighter. I vow to find something to laugh at every day for the rest of my life.

How wondrously wonderful we as human beings are. How lucky we are to be here.
2.3k · Oct 2017
Heart Pain
Deb Jones Oct 2017
You would think that new pain takes precedent over old pain

But the truth is that when new pain follows old pain, the weight of the whole tends to be a lot heavier than any individual wound.

A whole lifetime of accumulated pain.

If we have no coping mechanisms we just bear the weight.

The ever heavier weight.

Because let's be realistic, life is full of pain. And there is no one to turn to that doesn't have their own pain.

We can't say "Hey, do you mind holding this for a few hours? Or for a day? I'll pay you for babysitting it."

The truth is we don't want to give up the pain, to give it up means that we give up the immeasurable love we carry for the people we are mourning.

To give it up means that we never loved them enough. And we did. We do.

We love them so much we are willing to carry the pain for the rest of our lives. That is part of their legacy to us. The love, the memories.

After a while the pain is not so heart clenchingly hurtful.

We start to remember the laughter, the happy times. The loving times.

And we take those memories out and examine them. Smile and feel the lightness in our very soul.

We put the memories back and the heavy hurt doesn't seem so dark.

One of my my favorite quotes is  by Lewis Carroll
"I try to believe in as many as six impossible things before breakfast"

That always seemed like a good attitude to me.

The way the world is these days, it’s almost incomprehensible how anyone could have a closed mind.

It seems like most every day there’s a story in the news about one of our certainties being turned on its ear.

Maybe that’s what it means to be human, forever questioning our certainties.

One of my certainties is I will someday smile and outright laugh at the memory of my mom.

She was a funny, outrageous woman that made me laugh daily.

One day she said something so shockingly funny I threw myself across her bed laughing and banged my head on her wall.

Even that made me laugh harder.

She was a treat to talk to. A great artist, pianist and writer.

When my niece Ashley died, her granddaughter, I came home and went straight to her room.

We didn't say a word. I cried with my head on her lap for more than 2 hours. While she made soothing noises and cried with me.

The night she died I looked into her eyes for hours. The fear. The panic. I talked her home through it all.

I smiled while I cried and I made sure she knew she was safe. She was going home to be with loved ones.

I asked my siblings to come around to my side of the bed so she could see them and they couldn't. They just couldn't.

So I talked her home alone while they listened and cried.

I made sure every time she focused on my face I had a smile for her.

I told her to go. I reassured her and at the end gave her massive doses of medicine so she wouldn't hurt.

And I smiled until my cheeks hurt. While I kept talking her home.

I didn't want strangers touching her so out of 7 sisters only my youngest helped me bath and dress her in her favorite clothes.

I washed her waist long hair myself and did it in the long side braid she favored. I put the light makeup she liked on her face. She looked beautiful.

She was wonderful. She was my anchor, my soulmate, my best friend. She was my mother.
I can't believe she is not upstairs in her room waiting for me right now. I will miss her everyday for the rest of my life.
This was written at the same time I wrote the poem "Dying" my 22 year old niece died just a handful of months before my mom did. Last April. I am still working my way through the grieving process. Writing about it makes me feel better. I can pour the pain into my words
2.2k · Oct 2017
A fateful trip
Deb Jones Oct 2017
February 2017

Her cousin's name was Jason
His brother's Fiancé'
Had a brother named Mark
They became good friends
Jason and Mark

Jason was attending college
His dream was to work for
A big cat rescue service
For which he volunteered.

Mark was nursing a broken heart
He had just split up with his girlfriend
Justin and Mark were both 22
Jason wanted to cheer up Mark

Jason was an experienced hiker
His Dad worked
For the Sheriff's office
As Captain of the Search and Rescue team

Jason asked Mark
To go on a day hike with him
In the snow last May
They were excited

8,000 feet up
The snow was crisp
The crunch of the ice
Was loud in the silent air

They mostly stayed on the trail
Occasionally stepping over
The barriers when something
Caught their attention

The last time was when
Jason said he knew
Of a perfect view beyond
A stand of trees

Again, they thought nothing
Of stepping over the barrier
Despite the warning signs
Posted along the trail

Mark was in front of Jason
Both walking and talking
Laughing
Mark asked Jason a question

Jason didn't answer
Mark turned around
Bewildered
Jason was gone

Mark thought Jason was playing a game
He called his name
No answer
He called his cell phone
No answer
He screamed for Jason
No answer
He pleaded for him
No answer

He thought he heard Jason's
Cell phone ringing in the
Quiet bleakness of the snow
But no answer.

He saw Justin's footprints
Seeming to disappear
Into a darkened area
In the snow

Mark followed their foot prints back to the trail
He called the park rangers
And was told to wait there

The search and rescue team responded
Jason's father was not
Officially
Allowed to go

He drove to the site by himself

They found Jason quickly
He had fallen down
A crevice
Approximately 1800 feet deep

Without a sound to echo in the silent snow

There was nothing they could do
The fall killed him
The snow prevented
A rescue for a body

His father setup a campsite
And stayed there
With his son
For several days

Until he was forced to leave
By a heavy snow storm

The family had a moving and emotional memorial service
Of all he was
And all he could have been

The church was overflowing
With family and friends

Many Police officers
And Sheriff Deputies
Attended in full uniform
To support the parents

They, alone, filled 4 pews

Over the months
The snow melted
Unfortunately Justin's body
Was not recoverable
The crevice too deep and narrow

His mother won't accept that
Some day she hopes to have her son home.

We all pray for the same thing too.

Goodbye Justin, we all love you and haven't forgotten you one bit
This happened this past year. It seemed forever for spring to come around and to try and recover his body. Some people said they should have never went beyond the trail step-over fencing. But don't all youths feel infallible? Such a horrific death would not have been foreseeable
2.1k · Apr 2019
Animal Gangs
Deb Jones Apr 2019
If animals were mobsters....

A ****** of Crows.
An Unkindness of Ravens
A Shrewdness of Apes
A Sleuth of Bears
A Glowering of Cats
A Destruction of Wild Cats
A Quiver of Cobras
A Stand of Flamingos
A Parade of Elephants
A Charm of Foxes
An Army of Frogs
A Mob of Kangaroos
A Business of Ferrets
A Tower of Giraffes
A Crash of Rhinoceroses
A Bloat of Hippopotami
A Smack of Jellyfish
A Shadow of Jaguars
A Cackle of Hyenas
A Conspiracy of Lemurs
A Drift of Pigs
A Herd of Rabbits
A Barrel of Monkeys
A Parliament of Owls
A Shiver of Sharks
A Stench of Skunks
A Band of Gorillas
A Knot of Toads
A Pandemonium of Parrots
A Leap of Leopards
A Pride of Lions
A Prickle of Porcupines
A Scurry of Squirrels
An Obstinacy of Buffalo
A Labor Of Moles
A Bale of Turtles
A Zeal of Zebras
An Ambush of Tigers
These are the actual names of the groups. How great is this?
2.0k · Dec 2018
In Between The Differences
Deb Jones Dec 2018
I am light hearted and pretty spoken

My voice is musical and made for making others smile

I can sing and get others to sing with me

I am a writer and have published well

I am artistic in nature and love mixed media and simple charcoal too

I practice the Buddhist art of being. Being present in the moment

My mantras are centered on love and peace.

I cry easily. Over sad and happy events

But my dark side weighs heavy on me.

The things I know. The things I read and see.

I read about the depths of depravity.

I don’t follow on going stories.

I wait until the tale in all its horrors and the insane justification has come to an end

I do this so I have the reason, the means and the justice.

Only then do I feel better.

I need the justice

And I think.... my life, my past may never be scrubbed clean.
People have soiled me.

But there is justice in this world. Sometimes it take years. Decades even. But my purification settles like a mantle on my shoulders. It’s not covering me yet.
But one day it will

So I am soft and sweet to most people

But I don’t want anyone to see half the 1000s of kindle books I have.

And the last physical thing I want to do before my soul flies high and free is to be able to erase my browser.

Can you understand this?
2.0k · Apr 2019
Blessing
Deb Jones Apr 2019
sometimes silence
is one of life’s biggest blessings
2.0k · Feb 2019
Trust Issues
Deb Jones Feb 2019
He didn’t seem threatening, yet I had spent six months fighting the urge to trust him. At one time, I’d inherently trusted people, but experience is the best teacher, and even the most trusting child, with enough provocation, can grow into an adult who’s always wary—even as she hides behind open smiles and friendly conversation.

Trust
So easily broken. So wickedly hard to repair.
Deep the scars of iron bars
when oft we're laid so low
young or old, scared or bold
light takes time
too grow
~TF
2.0k · Jan 2019
we are the survivors
Deb Jones Jan 2019
Some people are ground so far down it seems that the earth is embedded forever in their skin.
But if you scrub long enough and hard enough you can eventually wash that ingrained filth away and become the shiny and brightened person you were always meant to be. And it feels wonderful.

For all the victims, both genders, that become survivors
1.9k · Oct 2018
Doggy Style
Deb Jones Oct 2018
I was at my first meeting
with a facility Director.
I would be starting an audit
right after the meeting with her.
There was a little brown and white dog with lots of hair.
And very distinctive black eyebrows like Groucho Marx.
He rolled into the office
with a ball under his tummy.
Very cute.
The Director told me
he was the facility’s mascot.
His name was George.  
Even though my associate
was with me,
George seemed to prefer me.
He nosed the ball towards me.
I took it and rolled it across the room.
George ran to get it
and brought it back to me.
By straddling it and walking it to me.
The Director said he could do that all day.
I rolled it once more.
I ignored George
when he came back with the ball.
I explained to the Director what our role would be in the facility.
Mostly educational...
I felt George sniffing and licking my bare leg.
I looked down and George looked back at me suggestively.
And seemed to grin.
I turned my attention back to the meeting...
George started ******* my leg.
Looking up at me with adoration.
I reached down while still talking
and maintaining my composure,
tried to pull George off my leg.
He tried to take my fingers off with a snarl.
The Director picked up George and saying “Bad Dog” she placed him
on a chair behind her.
He looked at me and licked his lips.
We continued our conversation.
About 30 secs later my leg
was being molested again
with even more vigor.
And wanton disregard for anyone listening, he started to moan.
The Director seemed to get upset.
Finally!
She yelled his name.
In complete mutiny he just ****** faster.
She picked him up.
I asked if he could be taken out of the room and the door closed.
She said no,
because the dog needed to learn the rules.
My associate’s shoulders were held
very rigid, holding back her laughter.
George was placed right back on the chair.
As soon as the Director sat back down George flipped over
and gave me a look at his “package”
And wiggled his brows again.
This time including a definite canine grin. The gleam in his eyes was pure lust.
I knew he wasn’t done yet.
At this point I, who was supposed
to be running the meeting,
was totally preoccupied
with the little *****.
I gave him my most menacing look.
He seemed to find it arousing.
His eyes made a promise
that I refused to give in to.
George the molester put his head
down on his paws and with limpid eyes watched me without blinking.  
I finally began to participate in the conversation.
My legs and feet tucked under the chair
I was sitting in.
George got off the chair and crept
toward me, almost on his belly.
He got to my side and  disappeared under the desk I was sitting in front of.  
That was ok.
I felt my legs were safe.
Without warning I felt his tongue
gently licking my ankles.  
He had obviously decided
that foreplay was needed.
I tried to ignore it
but he was rolling his tongue
around my ankles seductively
with a couple of swipes up my leg.
I kicked him and saw the Director wince.
I gave up and gave a leg to George.
The little *******.
I never went to that facility again.
I assigned it to an associate
and she never had problems with George.
People at my office sent me photos of dogs posed suggestively.
A lot of dogs.
Jerks.
1.9k · Oct 2017
Hummingbird
Deb Jones Oct 2017
I watch my little hummingbird
The **** on my porch

He perches on the nearest branch
Waiting for the worse

His fellow hummers try to sip
And he rushes to bomb them away

I hide feeders
In the hummingbird tree

Where the other hummers
Nestle the precious young

I have six other feeders around the yard
He thinks they all belong to him

I watch him from the window
His fat little body at rest

He has picked a strategic point
So he can see all six

He seems to be more aggressive when I go outside

As if to prove he is doing his work
I never doubted it once

When I read on the swing
He rises silently till he hovers above my book

Like a little Blackhawk copter
Eye to eye, trying to give me an intimidating look

His beautiful breast iridescent
Green and purple in the sun

Little filigree wings
Like intricate ironwork

His wings beat so fast
He flys backwards

He lives with me year round
In the warm California sun

Little nature’s jewelry
Thank you Sir.

You have given me great joy
Over the years
1.8k · Aug 2018
Quilt
Deb Jones Aug 2018
How much do we remember
of our childhood?
The scariest parts
The fears in the dark
And where special moments are parked
An odd mixture of things
Some out of context, really
A jumble of patterns
Like a patchwork quilt
To give us a handmade cover
To cushion the blows
Of adulthood
1.8k · Sep 2017
Testicular Fortitude
Deb Jones Sep 2017
Little wrinkled bags
Oh, how some sag

Contrary to popular belief
Not all are "High and tight"
Some sadly sag to mid thigh

Some men shouldn't wear shorts
That are too loose around the leg

When they squat
A ******* may plop

I've seen it happen
The man, unaware

Until it hit the cold tile floor
He immediately stood,
And headed for the door

The ******* did protrude
With a lively bounce on his thigh
As it danced with his stride

My eyes were riveted
I know.
It was rude
But in my defense

Being a medical provider
I saw the poor constricted
Thing turning purple.

I wanted to yell...
Hey Mister!
Need some help?

Like a fin on the water
I wondered about what lay beneath.

Was it a covered behemoth
Beneath his loose runner shorts
Covering a majestic treasure?

Which led me to another thought
How could he run and control all that?

Did they swing back and forth?
Propelling him forward?
Like a peg leg on an unfortunate soul.

I have talked to them before
Although I have never smoked
I talk in a 2 pack a day,
30 year disguised gravelly voice

Talking to them like they are soldiers. Up close and personal.

"Get in there, buck up, follow through, take one for the team...." Yes, at times I drift into football lingo.

Why do I do this? I wonder.

After I have this awkward conversation.
I don't make eye contact for the remaining duration.

Men want women to take both testicles in her mouth
Roll them around before spitting them out

Do you think we look like squirrels?
Filling our cheeks with nuts for the coming winter?

I have perfected the look
When I first see a man naked

Hands to my cheeks
My eyes opened wide

I exclaim in excitement
"Is all THAT for me??
This is pure satire. I did see a gentleman squat to talk to a toddler and see everything fall out the leg of his short shorts. I don't think anyone else noticed and I swear I didn't laugh until he was out of earshot. AND I have only seen one man with testicles to his mid thighs. He was 90 years old and naked. Running away from me down a hospital corridor.
1.8k · Sep 2017
Life Path
Deb Jones Sep 2017
The life path I walk,
Is mine alone to tread.
Sometimes the way is rocky
and the hills I climb feel so sharply steep.

The obstacles I encounter
seem insurmountable.
And l want to lay down in defeat.

I Can't

At times the way is filled with such joy.
Some loving wayfarers will share my heartbeats.
Some say
"I know you're tired but come,
this is the way."
And it's ok.
It's ok to walk the path of others once in awhile.

I don't forget it's my path.
Only my journey.
My steps that need to forge the way.
My heart won't ever forget them.

There are other friends that carry lanterns,
So I won't stumble in the dark.
But their path is not my path either
so they will have to leave me at dawn.
My heart hurts for those that left me.
Even when it was my choice.
Always my choice.

There will be sunshine on my path,
But not every step of the way.
I may trudge for a while in the darkest woods,
My head down
and not looking ahead as maybe I should.

And when it's time
I will stand in the rain without shelter. Letting it bathe everything.
Including the cleansing
of my heart and soul.
Then I will appreciate the warmth
of the sun's rays again as I have before.

I see how the sun is sometimes dappled
on the path in front of me
as it is filtered through the trees.
The wind will blow
and the shadow of the leaves
make intricate patterns
that change unexpectedly.

So shall my life path diverge and change. Sometimes the changes feel random.
And I wonder if I am lost.
I search my heart,
am I really right where I should be?
The questions are not always
real questions, just a feeling in my heart. Does that count?

During days of despair, I look back.
My path stretches far and wide behind me. I see how far I have come.
I see the path behind me
and see the shortcuts I took.
See the paths I strode with others.
See the things I overlooked.  

I forgive my childish wanderings.
I forgive the mistakes I made.

Sometimes I walked the path
with monsters.
I was lucky to escape.

My past defines me.
I see how much I've grown.
Outgrown my mothers shoes.
Outgrown my fathers.
Outgrown the dictates of a society that expects me to follow a map of paths that was written for others.

I am thankful for the pure of hearts
that walk my path with me.
No matter how far or how long.
In my heart the memory of them will linger on and on.

New friends will light my way.
I hold close the ones that already do.
I call to the ones that love me,
when I need a hand to hold on to.

And even in my darkest hours
when there is no sunlight
or even moonlight to light my path,
I light a lantern for others
and walk with them.
It's the least I can do.

So many may not realize
how having them in my life influences me.
I wish I could explain it to them all.
Sometimes no words can do.
But I try and say "I love you"
Every chance I get.

What a legacy to leave.
A part of myself
with every loved one I meet.
What a perfect legacy to leave.

Thank you for walking with me.
1.8k · Sep 2017
Overthinking
Deb Jones Sep 2017
Don't overthink me
You were lonely for a companion,
To share your hopes and dreams

And you thought of me
Because you liked me well enough

You wanted a woman to sleep beside
You wanted a mate for the rest of your life

And you thought of me
Because you liked me well enough

You were worried I would pick someone else soon
That your time would have passed

You were anxious about who
Was going to be there for you

And you thought of me
Because you liked me well enough

You were troubled
You didn’t even know why.

I could see you clearly.
It didn’t take much insight

You have talked yourself
Into thinking of me as yours

Just because I have been here for years
Because I have been here for you

Doesn’t mean I want you inside me
Doesn’t mean I want to lay underneath you

It just means I love you
And I am your friend.

I made you feel like a man
When the world was trying to unman you

Please don’t make me want to hide from you now.

Don’t pour unto me all that you need
I can't be that person for you

I am your friend
Just let me be a good friend again.

Your feelings for me haven’t changed.
What you feel is the same caring you have always had

Don’t overthink me…..please.

Let me be your friend again
To a friend that I love
1.8k · Sep 2017
It's Over
Deb Jones Sep 2017
mom downstairs playing cards
with your family and you
upstairs I slept on the floor of
your nine year old sister's room
waiting for mom to wake me
to go home
i wonder what excuse
you used to come upstairs
i wonder how you acted later
when you went back down
you flipped me over
pulling down my *******
while pulling up my dress
when I tried to scream
you didn't try to spare my breath
pushing my face into the blanket
while forcing yourself into me
I want to thank you
because while
I struggled to breathe
while I was suffocating
the man size pain of you
didn't hurt me as much
did you know did you care
the ramifications of sodomizing
a ten year old little girl
besides the rips and tears in my flesh, besides the blood
that wouldn't stop for weeks
i didn't attend fourth grade
i couldn't go to school
i was in too much pain
i had four operations over the years
to try and fix the damage
of your few minutes of ****
the first when i was ten
a month after that night
you tore through my ******
into my ******
with your man sized *****
And unrelenting pumping
when my groin started to swell
with your poison
I could smell myself
even after a month I couldn't sit
i didn't tell anyone
it was a secret
i only shared with you
but you returned to the army
was i complicit in my own ****
you coward you coward
how did you know i wouldn't tell
why did you choose me
the pain was like something
chewing viciously on me
inside and out
peeing was so painful
i  buried my screaming mouth
in a towel
the infection
was soon in my blood
my dad heard me scream
after my brother innocently
touched my leg
he sent everyone into the house
i stood by his open car door
he made me pull down my pants
another indignity i owe you
he saw the obscene swelling
of my genitals and leg
he didn't ask what happened
he just yelled for my mom
they took me to the hospital
where I was treated like a woman
i guess i was
i heard someone say
traumatic injury
i looked it up
when I was finally released
from the hospital and back home
no one ever asked me your name
no one asked me what happened
in invisible ink you wrote
on my forehead
victim, victim, victim
you tainted me
my brother would have
never touched me
if he didn't believe
i already had ***
the boys would have never
went so far so soon
they sensed I was damaged
the next surgery
was when I was 16
same repairs of the same tears
my mother explaining how i was once hurt there
it was the first time I heard her say those words
but she pretended not to know
what it meant she pretended
Because i pretended too
to spare her feelings
i was twenty-nine
when I had the third surgery
i spoke for myself
not looking at the doctor
because i worked with him at the hospital
still too ashamed to own it
and again just last year when i was diagnosed with ptsd
a diagnosis i won't ever use
i won't wear that mantle
it was my last surgery
i spoke about it openly for the first time. Like it happened to someone else
or came from a book I read
i now take medicine for frequent air bubbles in my bladder
my only reminder of that night.
i thought i was finally done with you

your sister found me today
on facebook 3000 miles away
she wrote
it's over.
and i knew you were dead
i thanked her for letting me know
that was the only words we wrote
i think you must have hurt her too
she was asleep in the bed right above where i slept on the floor
she had to have known when she heard you grunting on that floor or heard me struggling to breathe
why else would she know
to search for me decades later
i finally cried
but for her not for me
i want to thank you

I am the woman I am because of the woman you made me.

I wanted you to know. You may have taken what wasn't yours to take, you may have gloated over the memories you made. You may have gotten away with a crime, I won't even lower myself to think I was the only one. But you're dead now. Not a minute more will I give you. Not a minute more. This is the final thing I will write about you, let it be your epitaph.

You hurt me. You didn't **** me.
Here's another piece of my life. I wrote this about 3 months ago. I never intended to share it with anyone.  But you have all been so generous with your kind comments
Deb Jones Jan 2019
We help the parents to hold their child one last time.

Sometimes it’s the only time they get to hold her while she lives

Trying to help them survive is to sacrifice human touch

When her heartbeat stops
The parents are in shock

Even knowing it’s going to happen
Doesn’t help them much

We usher them gently out

The baby lies an ashen gray
The nails of her fingers turning dark

We turn off the machine
That kept her alive

We remove the tube
That held her last breath

We gently remove the tape
That held the feeding tube in her nose

We unwrap the blanket
And take off the electrodes

We take off the sensor on her toes
No need to see her oxygen is now zero

We wash her gently with warm water
Using cold water would be cruel

We get the “Memory Box”
And prepare the plaster

We take impressions of her
Hands and feet

We put a tiny diaper on her
A little bigger than my thumb

You would think that didn’t matter
But it does.

We add a little bracelet
Of her name made with beads

We take a laminated card
Where poetry is written

We dress her in clothes the Parents have brought.

Such tiny, tiny frocks
Beautiful pastel colors

We add a little hat
The volunteers have knitted

We take her pictures
A few of them

We put everything in the box
A diaper as a reminder
Of how small she was
The plaster of her hands and feet
The bracelet
The poetry
The photos
The name card
With her birth weight and height
That hung on the incubator before tonight

We swaddle her in a blanket
Now she just looks asleep

So peaceful and serene

We call the parents back in
To see her, hold her, mourn her

To continue to mourn her

The grandparents and the rest of the family too

We give them as much time as they want.
You can only imagine they don’t want to let go

We give them the memory box
To be opened some day

Not now.
Maybe not for months or years

But someday they will open the box
And they will know we took care of their little girl

They will see all we collected
All we did
We mourned with them too.

There is nothing so quiet as the preparation of a child that will be held for the last time by parents that are unanchored and rudderless.
I apologize if this was as a trigger for anyone that has lost a baby to a premature birth or some other full term genetic issues. I wanted people to know how we suffer the deaths too. And suffer the families anguish.
1.6k · Jul 2018
I was present
Deb Jones Jul 2018
Did I get what I wanted from this life?
I have.
What? What?
To be loved.
To love.
To know happiness, contentment.
To truly find myself. Even if it was a journey back.  
To hold a beloved child. My child and my child’s child.
To smell sunshine.
To accept I can’t change others
only change my reaction.
To swing with my feet touching the sky.
To hold the hands and give comfort to the brave and wounded.
To love a dog.
To be held in the arms of a man that loves me unconditionally.
To know Grace.
To practice dignity.
To bear the weight of responsibility even when it brings me to my knees.
To forgive myself.
To forgive others even if I can’t talk to them again.
All this and so much more have made my life worth living.
I was here. I was here. I was here.
I was present.
1.6k · Dec 2018
My Words
Deb Jones Dec 2018
Sometimes my words tiptoe in
Hiding in the shadows
Peeking behind curtains
And under beds
Climbing under covers
I shiver

Sometimes my words
Have teeth
Biting and tearing
I struggle to contain them
Lest they offend
But usually fail

Sometimes my words
Are as my lips
Soft and tender
So ready to surrender
Sensuously sliding
Along a cheek, whispering

Sometimes my words
Are as wild as birds
Starlings dancing on the wind
Set to beautiful music
And synchronized waltzes
The beauty makes me cry

Sometimes my words
Are like a hot ball in my throat
I almost choke on them
I keep my teeth clenched
Because I can’t contain
The pain

Sometimes my words
Are in my tears
I need to share
Prepare, exposing
Realizing I am minimizing

Sometimes my words
Are in my eyes
The green facets
Like a gem, glitter
I am wild and unfocused
But once penned
I rarely rewrite
1.5k · Sep 2017
Transmigration of the soul
Deb Jones Sep 2017
I believe in transmigration of the soul.

I want to be born again as a bird.
An Eagle, Hawk or Falcon
Maybe a Condor or an Owl
Birds with few predators.

Their kingdom is the sky.

I don't want to have memories of being a woman.
I want to experience life as only a winged soul. I don't want the comparisons of the life I left behind.

Powerful and free
I want to ride the wind, soar with the currents.
With nothing in the air as powerful as me.

I want to see my shadow on the ground as I fly. Every creature below me, increasing  their heart tempo becomes paralyzed with fear.

I want to build my aerie on a mountainside. And fill it with my young.
With my superior eyesight I could see for miles. Of any enemy that might come.

As a Falcon I could dive at 200 miles per hour.

As an Eagle I would have beauty, power, grace and spirit.

I would live a life that is protected, honored.

As a Condor, my wingspan would be majestic. 10 to 11 feet. With hallow bones, almost weightless

As a Hawk I would mate for life. Both of us would hunt. The echoing cry of a Hawk tells the mate where to find it's food.

The calling of Hawks or Peregrine falcons hunting with their mates immediately makes me stop and listen. It's a hauntingly beautiful call.

What a wonderful life that must be.

I believe that one day that will be me.
1.5k · Dec 2018
Secrets
Deb Jones Dec 2018
If I told you a secret
Will you tell one too?

I bet your mind is already
“Rolodexing”
Looking for one
That will not give
Much of yourself away
1.4k · Oct 2017
Looking back
Deb Jones Oct 2017
You deserve more.
I belong in your past.
I bloom in retrospect
1.3k · Jan 2019
Soul Music
Deb Jones Jan 2019
I surround myself with music
My tastes are very eclectic
Alexa playing all night long
Downstairs, volume five
Wind chimes in the back and front
Hanging from the eaves
Also several in the trees
The rustling leaves that hang over my home
The birds singing
The coyotes howling
All this pleases my ears
Pleases me so much

I dance alone on my hardwood floors
I dance with partners too
Playing music that are hip rockers
Teary-eyed as I sway to the blues

A few years ago I went out
With four male friends
On my Birthday
To a favored local band
I took turns dancing with each
A woman approached our table
And I thought good.
She will ask one to dance
But she asked me

I play foreign music
When I need to concentrate
Most I can’t understand
But the music makes me
Almost lean toward the melody
Japanese, French, Slavic folk music, Indian reeds, Operas, Mariachi, Rap too
I don’t have to “sing along”
Its just so viscerally haunting
It’s like falling in love

And my toes still tingle
With the need to dance

My phonograph is part of my furniture
The slight crackle before the melody starts
The sound is still unique to me

I hum so much and for so many hours
My throat hurts
I have to make myself stop
Which is harder than you think

My friends “tune” me like a radio
Usually when we are playing Crib
If I am humming one song
They will hum another
I will follow their lead.
Then another takes over
Within a minute I change again
I only catch on when it’s a song
I wouldn’t normally hum.
They did this for years
Before they pointed it out to me.

When I was a little girl
My family and friends
Called me the Hummingbird

Music is where I find myself
And leave parts of me

I will admit this.
When I am heart hurt
I can’t bear to listen to music
None.
Everything I love about music
Becomes the things
That scratches my heart
Over and over again

Once I went almost two years,
A lifetime, without music
I know I am recovering when I don’t
Reach out to turn it off
If I hear it unexpectedly
I know I am healing,
When I embrace music again
And start humming once more
This segued more than I planned. But it’s complete. :)
Edited to add this for Lori Jones McCaffery.
My 2 go to songs to get any song out of my head
Is The Rolling Stones “Beast of Burden”
And the other is laughably the theme song
To the “Beverly Hillbillys”
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