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Sam Jul 2018
You know life is never easy
to stand up and be strong completely.
You fight battles everyday in your way out
and lose things that you love —
makes you crazy.
You step out in your ground just to break free
but your heart was stuck in your memories.
You think you will never make it
so you give up tryin' to be lonely.
But you know,
you could change it
if you believe that you can —
you can make it.
Be the new version that you wanted,
it's never too late to be the real you.




Noises in Mind, Copyright © 2014
Sam N. de la Rosa
All rights reserved.
It's never too late to be the real you.
Stephen E Yocum Aug 2018
The older we grow
the faster life goes,
priorities change
quality of living
and loving takes
precedent, over
self-indulgence
and material things.
Nothing as important
as family and friends.

It is racing now,
these fleeting days
and years, reflected
most in my grandsons
growing too soon from
children to young men.

Along with Steller parents
our little farm provides
a learning ground for the
kids, teaching life lessons
that inspire character and
self discipline, with Cows
and pigs to show at fairs,
pride earned with accomplishments
and Blue Ribbons to share.

So lucky am I having a ringside
seat, watching yet another
family generation ascend.
Football and basket ball
games to attend, Christmas
morns of excited children
clamoring down the stairs,  
many birthday celebrations
with ever more candles aglow.
Memories all, retained and shared.

Perhaps the best part is,
these grandsons of mine,
still are up for hugs and
good night kisses, genuine
affection received and given.

Families are a true blessing
and a privilege, the only
real reason we are here.

All these things, remain the
sweet frosting on my aging
Grandfather's cake of life.
I sometimes wonder where
I would be without all these,  
my reasons for being?
mariamme Jun 2018
i've just realized
i am a little too hungry
for the world's delicious hidden things
to sit here idly still
waiting upon those who watch over me
to figure out i'm not a figurine
to handle with care and
twirl on pedestals for the eyes of family friends
as though accomplishments
are only made of paper and years' hardships
and "look, dear, she did it!"s that
only bring bile to my lips
not proud smiles like i plaster
as though i'm only yours, nothing more

can you feel the furnace in my roots
lapping at the scraps of solitude
and fanciful imaginings that i throw
to sate the beast begging for death
of your dominion over my wellbeing
i don't want to be safe right now, love
i want to feel the rain on my face
and have permanence taper
until all that's left of me
is lived experience, no paper trails
and accolades that gather dust and wither.
so much to do and then regret later, until i'm past regret at age 87 with tattoos up my thighs and lots of fun stories about lived experience to tell.
Sarah Isma Jul 2018
i would like to thank my parents,
for raising the best liar,
for teaching me to not give in to my desires,
for showing me that this world is an open fire,
that i am just walking through the shooting grounds,
that i am just trying to make it past the bounds,
that for some reason i showed you my accomplishments,
but in the end you ask if that’s ever going to be enough
they say strict parents raise the best liars, and for once i realize that it’s true. It’s become a thing, a sort of addiction, that lies easily flow through, and deceit seems to be my best personality. I’ll change, i’ll try, and i hope someday i’m able to tell them the little truth hidden behind this huge lie.
Robert G Page May 2013
by
rgpage

lonely is this life i live
i am the first son of death.
this lonely life he gave to me
when first i drew my breath.

i walk this earth without my kin
for he is in another life.
i live on earth in mortal sin
and leave his world in strife.

even now i see his life
the molten fires of hell.
the darkened heat and cries of fear,
and the devil's laughter as well.

and through the void of time i hear
a voice cry out in anguished vent.
as our father draws so near
“repent dear God, repent.”

for me this life goes oh so fast
at times i have no goal,
but accomplishments will always last
for this brother of mine my soul.
multi sumus Aug 2018
Dear Death,
                      Let me begin by saying Thank You, Thank You for your labours. i myself would be unable to carry such a burden as to ferry those found at their end to their final destination. And i could not imagine such a task and the amount of dedication required to do so. Although im sure by your employ a many a place you have travelled and such sights you've seen. Albeit thanks be given it is not the reason for this writing.

   As your residence be not given i sought it best to carry this letter upon my person, So when we should meet it may be presented.  And not knowing the circumstances by which our encounter should occur it may find futile.  But if possible that you should be seen by my own eye and strength i have, unto your hand it shall be given.  In hopes upon reading you would fulfill that which is requested.

   Now being that at the time of this writing i am found to be of a young age, There are many accomplishments not yet succeeded. There are loves yet felt and joys yet found,  but through hope they shall be met. Not to say that all will be simple mind you, but with perseverance my goal is to complete my tasks with much ferver. While also taking into consideration that much time will be required to do so.  Which brings me to the reasoning behind this letter.

   My Dearest Death, i ask of you, not that you would overlook me so as to prolong the inevitable but only my demise be slow and drawn out.  To what extreme the pain be i leave to you, only that it be to a level suitable for reflection. For you see as of now i look towards that which i wish to accomplish, but at that time my wish is to look back.  To relive the joy and happiness of those moments and to smile knowing that i truly lived. So i may say that all i have set my mind to i have done.

   Even though nothing is owed i beseech thee, And to say i would be eternally grateful would sound a lie.  But be it known that by your agreement to my plea you are appreciated.

   i shall close now given that by your reading of this the time requested by you for my remembrance has been satisfied.  To ask for anything more would seem greedy.  Not that my intent was to fool you, but being it is my lifes end which is the reason for our meeting i wished to be in control of it.
   Please forgive me this offense and my hopes are you remain content in your duties.
      
                       Sincerely...
Val Vik Mar 2018
I wish you complete happiness...
the truest of love.
I wish you all the best of the world;

I wish you comfort in your days and nights.
I wish you peace of wisdom.
I wish you strength- in every hardship.
foremost friendship, warmest blanket, time.

I wish you the most heart-warming poem.
your every desire.
I wish you all the delicacies of nature...
to leap toward accomplishments.

I wish you the joyous health!
I wish you so, so much... I tear up...
I wish you from the essence of my heart.
You deserve all the best.

...always....
As I whisper to your sleep...
As I lay on your chest...

Wholeness, Contentment, Love beyond --,
Truth, Emotion, Places hidden --,
Senses, Movement in Stillness, Essence, . . .
free flow...
at least of what I can remember
slay Nov 2018
Patience is progress and
While im basting in sauces
Calculating and calibrating all of my future accomplishments
In a world already too full of Batesian mockers
Feathers and followers
Glammed out like the ***** with her hands out and collars up
When will my *** ever run it up ?
Talk to me back like i owe you one
I can finally let my hair down, **** a bun
**** a lot of things ive outgrown or one up'd
Im so clean with a brush,
Im like a vision and such
I'm a ***** and an ******* at the same time; im ******

Stretching my mind as far as it goes,
Im in over my head and it's starting to show
All my thoughts are the size of my brain will implode
All the venom is leaking from deep in my soul
It's fascinating, time is circlulating faster than i can control
Tell myself that when the self is hibernating
There's a certain self awareness, only comes with reparations
In the void, incarcerated and
It's taking its toll
Whether wasting or waiting,
My kinetics all froze
Am I broke?

Every last breath that I've took
Has been a signal through parallels, my mind's somewhat shook
But this voice in my head is demeaning as ****
I might make myself choke just to shut that ***** up,

I am broke, but

Patience is progress, I'm told
Might tattoo that **** on my eyelids, stay woke
I'm consumed by its growth, ******* creepin, they know
That patience is progress
King Kong with my balled fist
On my chest chiefing and coughing the edge off my concious
I'm not really sure why some of you are so bitter and heartless
To **** a ***** vibe
Regardless stay chillin, im glossy
The bags bout in my pocket
I just stopped for every rose in Persephone's garden, and
Each one is sweeter, I taste Dyonosis
Ugh, I'm so flawless
I swear, one day I'll be better at all of this
Patience is progress
multi sumus Apr 2019
...provocational issues

with the occasional conversational misuse by anfracting solecistically ;) All these (pro)nouns (ad)verbs and adjectives

Eschewing (v){1} conservative (adj)[2b] preservatives (n)•1•

And artificial (adj)-3- additives

Issuing adages

Just trying to be imaginative
But you had to give a thumb down on Us to be profound and honest We're rather glad you did

It tells Us you've been paying your dues in the form of attention perusing contention
(the contents obvious intent is contemptive) the strike was preemptive "oh wait! did We mention?"

Now that We have you


A moment so as to - speak of unity in this community and in hopes of what is wrote
you'll see what you do to these

   Poets and Poetesses
   With emotions exposed some things you should notice is

Astonished byyy your admonishment!
Of accomplishments!
Seeking comments with!

Opulent compliments!
The problem's the obstinence stifling ones confidence

Questioning competence!
your not needed for that 'cause it happens quite often since - being artists expecting perfection through written expression at times its perplexing
              "The words aren't connecting!'
                     "This meter is vexing!"
                 "And what should come next!?"

Not what you expected...
https://youtu.be/k7uTE6n8_04

{dictionary.com}
[merriam-webster.com]
•thefreedictionary.com• *cite Collins Spanish Dictionary
-macmillandictionary.com-

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2807076/first-stone-ode-to-trolls-song/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3099476/first-stone-ode-to-trolls-extrapolated-ii/
multi sumus Dec 2018
The morning was calm, Like every other, In repose contemplating life and all of its idiosyncrasies.
    Gazing upon the silken apparitions swaying in the wind as the warmth of luminous fingers reached through the canopy gently caressing the forest floor.
   And while enveloped by the scent of earth and old stone suddenly it became quiet...so quiet, Like dew forming on an arisaema blossom deep in the wood.
   In the distance a voice was heard.
A single word softly murmured.
   The fauna ceasing their chatter to pay homage to the sound.

    And in that moment a crescending echo began within, Consuming me...In so much from that point on nothing more my attention would hold.
   On that day i commensed my journey inward, Seeking that which for so many years lay hidden.
   i sought understanding of the contents and acceptance of that which was found.
   An arduous task to say the least, But necessary.
   i found the mind a worthy adversary for my methodical nature as i fervently assembled years of thought and memory into their respective placements, Removing all but that required to obtain solace.
   Much time has been invested in this endeavor, And although not complete i am satisfied thus far with my labours.

    Now once again i found myself in thought, Confident in my accomplishments, The utterance resting from its toil.
   And then, An occurrence, Unlike anything that i have ever known before.
   Every fiber of my being lying still at the sound of this...whisper.

   As then it fell from my own parted lips.

   The meaning, At least the one initially assumed had changed.

  The purpose for my existence revealed
        The reasoning for this...life.

  i know now why so long ago within my hearing the voice spoke
  
   For all along my Love...


                 it has been for You.
FreeMind May 2019
I bade farewell to the memories,
the joy, the laughter, the tears, the fears,
the forever-lasting-friendships
Without whom this journey would be dreadful

I bade farewell to all these years
of restless work, of struggles, of accomplishments,
of day-and-night stress
That never seemed to end, but did.

I bade farewell to the innocent girl I used to be
In the hopes of finding my new self amid the infinite possibilities
That are waiting to be explored
By Me

I bade farewell
As I step into the warm embrace of June


-FreeMind
#84
May 30, 2019
Farewell Class of 2019 <3
Robert Ronnow Sep 2015
Science can't save you, neither can religion,
at least Popper and Niebuhr, philosophers and poets,
are entertainers, which is why actors and athletes
are paid so much. Thanks for the summaries.
I was teaching Shakespeare's 92nd ridiculous sonnet
to my student who lays blacktop in the off season
Shakespeare bellyaching about dying without her love
a feeling foreign to a modern adolescent sensibility
although many teens are pretty far gone searching
for their mothers or fathers in their dazed lovers' eyes.
Which is why we call it "the wound that never heals."
Or the lesion that's always lengthening. And bleeding.

Muslim fundamentalists and their Christian counterparts
are a mystery to me. Pews and prayer rugs, the airless
indoor environment of religious worship, reading
scriptures, hypnotized by hymns and fainting from staring
at candles through stained glass windows, almost certain
the preacher is faking his certainty about the afterlife.
It's not my problem. A more immediate concern:
receding gums and tooth extractions, swollen joints,
poor lubrication and circulation, wave after wave
of viral infection, the occasional antibiotic-resistant
bacterial attack, usually urinary, and who knows
what internal organs are dividing and conquering
without mercy or cease, i.e. the wound that never heals.

It is wise not to overvalue your continued existence,
good not to be innumerate, unable to compare
a mere 80 years with say 6.0 x 109 or all of time
(to date) times the multiverse. Conversely,
it is interesting all of space and most of history is contained
in your little mind (realizing of course it's just a map
of the cosmos not the cosmos itself, or is it?). I'm
unable to wrestle free, tongue in that cavity
and locked in my memories, so separate and disparate
from the biomass in the crosswalks, even my spouse.
Alone, so alone, even your doctor can only devote
limited thought to your situational mortality through
the redress of poetry - also a wound that never heals.

Snow for eternity, that's what this February's been.
All to the good, for someone it's the final February
so enjoy it to the extent you can. By that I mean joy.
Joy at birth. Joy at death. All joy. All times. Anyway.
That was Shakespeare's message: even tragedies are comedies.
May, a Buddhist, chants each morning.
Her husband, Marc, who's Jewish, plays league tennis.
Their son, Aaron, will soon make Eagle scout.
How does it relate to your wound that never heals?
Luck runs out. For D.H. Lawrence in New Mexico
or Ulysses S. Grant in Ohio or Yasujiro Ozu in
Tokyo or Satyajit Ray in Bombay or Rabindranath
Tagore in Bangalore or at the Battle of the Atlantic in the Azores.

The night is a poultice, winter or summer solstice.
My anonymity will not affect the anomie ghettoside
seeing for myself how season by season
vacations and accomplishments accumulate, late in life
and early on, sunrise over mountains or moonrise over Bronx.
Masturbator, prisoner of war. Hospice of the Holy Roman Empire.
Numerous blue notes: the 3 flat, 7 flat, 5 flat,
the 6 flat and the 2 flat too. I don't get
what Wallace Stevens means by imagination.
When groundhog shows up as a totem, there is opportunity
to explore the mystery of death without dying.
This then is the purpose of purposelessness (and of eating less)!
Now what about that wound that never heals.

The Skeptical Observer column in Scientific American
was somewhat alarming when he accepted a paranormal
explanation for how his wife's grandfather's inoperable
transistor radio played music from its hiding spot
in his sock drawer on, and only on, their wedding day.
Now I'll have to believe my father (or mother!) is watching me
perform private ****** acts with (or without) partners
or that they could even know my thoughts. Or aliens
are attending our committee meetings and making
perfectly reasonable decisions given the available information
and the world is rotating just fine without humans.
These possibilities - angels, ghosts, aliens - are better
than holocaust and genocide. In this way,
and only in this way, does doom become endurable.
The wound that never heals in the end is all you'll feel.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Diana Feb 2019
Continuous perfection
Leads to overlooked accomplishments
A renewed definition of ordinary
Takes root
Soon
Perfection
Loses its value
People's compliments
Lose their presence
ardnaxela Apr 2018
4/29/18 5:47 pm

I wish you wouldn't blame yourself
For those memories I'll never get
I wish you wouldn't flinch so much
At dinner
when the conversation
meanders to my name
I wish my happiest moments
were shared with some of yours
I wish my accomplishments the same
I wish you could make a guilt-free trip
To see me.
I wish when I smiled
Your soul would adhere and do as such
I wish those times when I was knocked off balance
Your love would have been my crutch
I wish in our text messages there was no distance
I wish phone calls between us existed
I wish my existence didn't make you so uncomfortable.
Pops
I wish you would have gotten to know me
I wish you could have helped to paint my canvass
I wish you knew I'm not upset
I wish it wasn't too late
Sophie Mariff Nov 2018
this is my goodbye to you
a sweet blanket of truth
i know that we’re better off without each other
so let’s not play games and leave for the better

thank you for being in my life
for inspiring me to do what’s right
to wish for the best
and put me to the test

i love you and I know you know
so i hope you don’t say no
to the next girl who confesses her love
and that you will never break her heart
instead fit together with her like a glove

i hope that we’ll find each other again
this time as adults who have what we’ve attained
a lifelong list of accomplishments and dreams
but baby, if only you knew you were my dream

but this is my goodbye
so i love you and it’s true
i’ll remember you and this too;
the kisses of our forever
and the memories created from whenever
For my love, J.H.
HerStory Apr 2018
Crave her thoughts
the way you crave to hear her moan ,
absorb her ideas,
like they're your favorite cologne.
Try to understand her emotions like she's the NBA,
await her accomplishments
like your next payday .
What are our accomplishments
When we meet each other’s hearts
I hold you in my embrace
You express grace through your body
I‘d love to absorb your fragrance
And waste the hours of the day
Lying here in bed with you
Conscious of nothing, I feel
We might be onto something
Victor D López Dec 2018
Victor D. López (October 11, 2018)

You were born five years before the beginning of the Spanish civil war and
Lived in a modest two-story home in the lower street of Fontan, facing the ocean that
Gifted you its wealth and beauty but also robbed you of your beloved and noblest eldest
Brother, Juan, who was killed while working as a fisherman out to sea at the tender age of 19.

You were a little girl much prone to crying. The neighbors would make you cry just by saying,
"Chora, neniña, chora" [Cry little girl, cry] which instantly produced inconsolable wailing.
At the age of seven or eight you were blinded by an eye Infection. The village doctor
Saved your eyesight, but not before you missed a full year of school.

You never recovered from that lost time. Your impatience and the shame of feeling left behind prevented
You from making up for lost time. Your wounded pride, the shame of not knowing what your friends knew,
Your restlessness and your inability to hold your tongue when you were corrected by your teacher created
A perfect storm that inevitably tossed your diminutive boat towards the rocks.

When still a girl, you saw Franco with his escort leave his yacht in Fontan. With the innocence of a girl
Who would never learn to hold her tongue, you asked a neighbor who was also present, "Who is that Man?"
"The Generalissimo Francisco Franco," she answered and whispered “Say ‘Viva Franco’ when he Passes by.”
With the innocence of a little girl and the arrogance of an incorrigible old soul you screamed, pointing:

"That's the Generalissimo?" followed up loud laughter, "He looks like Tom Thumb!"
A member of his protective detail approached you, raising his machine gun with the apparent intention of
Hitting you with the stock. "Leave her alone!" Franco ordered. "She is just a child — the fault is not hers."
You told that story many times in my presence, always with a smile or laughing out loud.

I don't believe you ever appreciated the possible import of that "feat" of contempt for
Authority. Could that act of derision have played some small part in their later
Coming for your father and taking him prisoner, torturing him for months and eventually
Condemning him to be executed by firing squad in the Plaza de Maria Pita?

He escaped his fate with the help of a fascist officer who freed him as I’ve noted earlier.
Such was his reputation, the power of his ideas and the esteem even of friends who did not share his views.
Such was your innocence or your psychic blind spot that you never realized your possible contribution to
His destruction. Thank God you never connected the possible impact of your words on his downfall.

You adored your dad throughout your life with a passion of which he was most deserving.
He died shortly after the end of the Spanish Civil War. A mother with ten mouths to feed
Needed help. You stepped up in response to her silent, urgent need. At the age of
Eleven you left school for the last time and began working full time.

Children could not legally work in Franco’s Spain. Nevertheless, a cousin who owned a cannery
Took pity on your situation and allowed you to work full-time in his fish cannery factory in Sada.
You earned the same salary as the adult, predominantly women workers and worked better
Than most of them with a dexterity and rapidity that served you well your entire life.

In your free time before work you carried water from the communal fountain to neighbors for a few cents.
You also made trips carrying water on your head for home and with a pail in each hand. This continued after
You began work in Cheche’s cannery. You rose long before sunrise to get the water for
Home and for the local fishermen before they left on their daily fishing trips for their personal water pails.

All of the money you earned went to your mom with great pride that a girl could provide more than the salary of a
Grown woman--at the mere cost of her childhood and education. You also washed clothes for some
Neighbors for a few cents more, with diapers for newborns always free just for the pleasure of being
Allowed to see, hold spend some time with the babies you so dearly loved you whole life through.
When you were old enough to go to the Sunday cinema and dances, you continued the
Same routine and added washing and ironed the Sunday clothes for the young fishermen
Who wanted to look their best for the weekly dances. The money from that third job was your own
To pay for weekly hairdos, the cinema and dance hall entry fee. The rest still went to your mom.

At 16 you wanted to go to emigrate to Buenos Aires to live with an aunt.
Your mom agreed to let you--provided you took your younger sister, Remedios, with you.
You reluctantly agreed. You found you also could not legally work in Buenos Aires as a minor.
So you convincingly lied about your age and got a job as a nurse’s aide at a clinic soon after your arrival.

You washed bedpans, made beds, scrubbed floors and did other similar assigned tasks
To earn enough money to pay the passage for your mom and two youngest brothers,
Sito (José) and Paco (Francisco). Later you got a job as a maid at a hotel in the resort town of
Mar del Plata whose owners loved your passion for taking care of their infant children.

You served as a maid and unpaid babysitter. Between your modest salary and
Tips as a maid you soon earned the rest of the funds needed for your mom’s and brothers’
Passage from Spain. You returned to Buenos Aires and found two rooms you could afford in an
Excellent neighborhood at an old boarding house near the Spanish Consulate in the center of the city.

Afterwards you got a job at a Ponds laboratory as a machine operator of packaging
Machines for Ponds’ beauty products. You made good money and helped to support your
Mom and brothers  while she continued working as hard as she always had in Spain,
No longer selling fish but cleaning a funeral home and washing clothing by hand.

When your brothers were old enough to work, they joined you in supporting your
Mom and getting her to retire from working outside the home.
You lived with your mom in the same home until you married dad years later,
And never lost the bad habit of stubbornly speaking your mind no matter the cost.

Your union tried to force you to register as a Peronista. Once burned twice cautious,
You refused, telling the syndicate you had not escaped one dictator to ally yourself with
Another. They threatened to fire you. When you would not yield, they threatened to
Repatriate you, your mom and brothers back to Spain.

I can’t print your reply here. They finally brought you to the general manager’s office
Demanding he fire you. You demanded a valid reason for their request.
The manager—doubtless at his own peril—refused, saying he had no better worker
Than you and that the union had no cause to demand your dismissal.

After several years of courtship, you and dad married. You had the world well in hand with
Well-paying jobs and strong savings that would allow you to live a very comfortable life.
You seemed incapable of having the children you so longed for. Three years of painful
Treatments allowed you to give me life and we lived three more years in a beautiful apartment.

I have memories from a very tender age and remember that apartment very well. But things changed
When you decided to go into businesses that soon became unsustainable in the runaway inflation and
Economic chaos of the Argentina of the early 1960’s. I remember only too well your extreme sacrifice
And dad’s during that time—A theme for another day, but not for today.

You were the hardest working person I’ve ever known. You were not afraid of any honest
Job no matter how challenging and your restlessness and competitive spirit always made you a
Stellar employee everywhere you worked no matter how hard or challenging the job.
Even at home you could not stand still unless there was someone with whom to chat awhile.

You were a truly great cook thanks in part to learning from the chef of the hotel where you had
Worked in Mar del Plata awhile—a fellow Spaniard of Basque descent who taught you many of his favorite
Dishes—Spanish and Italian specialties. You were always a terribly picky eater. But you
Loved to cook for family and friends—the more the merrier—and for special holidays.

Dad was also a terrific cook, but with a more limited repertoire. I learned to cook
With great joy from both of you at a young age. And, though neither my culinary skills nor
Any aspect of my life can match you or dad, I too am a decent cook and
Love to cook, especially for meals shared with loved ones.

You took great pleasure in introducing my friends to some of your favorite dishes such as
Cazuela de mariscos, paella marinera, caldo Gallego, stews, roasts, and your incomparable
Canelones, ñoquis, orejas, crepes, muñuelos, flan, and the rest of your long culinary repertoire.
In primary and middle school dad picked me up every day for lunch before going to work.

You and he worked the second shift and did not leave for work until around 2:00 p.m.
Many days, dad would bring a carload of classmates with me for lunch.
I remember as if it were yesterday the faces of my Jewish, Chinese, Japanese, German, Irish
And Italian friends when first introduced to octopus, Spanish tortilla, caldo Gallego, and flan.

The same was true during college and law school.  At times our home resembled an
U.N. General Assembly meeting—but always featuring food. You always treated my
Closest friends as if they were your children and a number of them to this day love
You as a second mother though they have not seen you for many years.

You had tremendous passion and affinity for being a mother (a great pity to have just one child).
It made you over-protective. You bought my clothes at an exclusive boutique. I became a
Living doll for someone denied such toys as a young girl. You would not let me out of your sight and
Kept me in a germ-free environment that eventually produced some negative health issues.

My pediatrician told you often “I want to see him with ***** finger nails and scraped knees.”
You dismissed the statement as a joke. You’d take me often to the park and to my
Favorite merry-go-round. But I had not one friend until I was seven or eight and then just one.
I did not have a real circle of friends until I was about 13 years old. Sad.

I was walking and talking up a storm in complete sentences when I was one year old.
You were concerned and took me to my pediatrician who laughed. He showed me a
Keychain and asked, “What is this Danny.” “Those are your car keys” I replied. After a longer
Evaluation he told my mom it was important to encourage and feed my curiosity.

According to you, I was unbearable (some things never change). I asked dad endless questions such as,
“Why is the sun hot? How far are the stars and what are they made of? Why
Can’t I see the reflection of a flashlight pointed at the sky at night? Why don’t airplanes
Have pontoons on top of the wheels so they can land on both water and land? Etc., etc., etc.

He would answer me patiently to the best of his ability and wait for the inevitable follow-ups.
I remember train and bus rides when very young sitting on his lap asking him a thousand Questions.
Unfortunately, when I asked you a question you could not answer, you more often than not made up an answer Rather than simply saying “I don’t know,” or “go ask dad” or even “go to hell you little monster!”

I drove you crazy. Whatever you were doing I wanted to learn to do, whether it was working on the
Sewing machine, knitting, cooking, ironing, or anything else that looked remotely interesting.
I can’t imagine your frustration. Yet you always found only joy in your little boy at all ages.
Such was your enormous love which surrounded me every day of my life and still does.

When you told me a story and I did not like the ending, such as with “Little Red Riding Hood,”
I demanded a better one and would cry interminably if I did not get it. Poor mom. What patience!
Reading or making up a story that little Danny did not approve of could be dangerous.
I remember one day in a movie theater watching the cartoons I loved (and still love).

Donald Duck came out from stage right eating a sandwich. Sitting between you and dad I asked you
For a sandwich. Rather than explaining that the sandwich was not real, that we’d go to dinner after the show
To eat my favorite steak sandwich (as usual), you simply told me that Donald Duck would soon bring me the sandwich. But when the scene changed, Donald Duck came back smacking his lips without the sandwich.

Then all hell broke loose. I wailed at the top of my lungs that Donald Duck had eaten my sandwich.
He had lied to me and not given me the promised sandwich. That was unbearable. There was
No way to console me or make me understand—too late—that Donald Duck was also hungry,
That it was his sandwich, not mine, or that what was on the screen was just a cartoon and not real.

He, Donald Duck, mi favorite Disney character (then and now) hade eaten this little boy’s Sandwich. Such a Betrayal by a loved one was inconceivable and unbearable. You and dad had to drag me out of the theater ranting And crying at the injustice at top volume. The tantrum (extremely rare for me then, less so now) went on for awhile, but all was well again when my beloved Aunt Nieves gave me a ******* with jam and told me Donald had sent it.

So much water under the bridge. Your own memories, like smoke in a soft breeze, have dissipated
Into insubstantial molecules like so many stars in the night sky that paint no coherent picture.
An entire life of vital conversations turned to the whispers of children in a violent tropical storm,
Insubstantial, imperceptible fragments—just a dream that interrupts an eternal nightmare.

That is your life today. Your memory was always prodigious. You knew the name of every person
You ever met, and those of their family members. You could recall entire conversations word for word.
Three years of schooling proved more than sufficient for you to go out into the world, carving your own
Path from the Inhospitable wilderness and learning to read and write at the age of 16.

You would have been a far better lawyer than I and a fiery litigator who would have fought injustice
Wherever you found it and always defended the rights of those who cannot defend themselves,
Especially children who were always your most fervent passion. You sacrificed everything for others,
Always put yourself dead-last, and never asked for anything in return.

You were an excellent dancer and could sing like an angel. Song was your release in times of joy and
In times of pain. You did not drink or smoke or over-indulge in anything. For much of your life your only minor Indulgence was a weekly trip to the beauty parlor—even in Spain where your washing and ironing income
Paid for that. You were never vain in any way, but your self-respect required you to try to look your best.

You loved people and unlike dad who was for the most part shy, you were quite happy in the all-to-infrequent
Role as the life of the party—singing, dressing up as Charlie Chaplin or a newborn for New Year’s Eve parties with Family and close friends. A natural story-teller until dementia robbed you of the ability to articulate your thoughts,
You’d entertain anyone who would listen with anecdotes, stories, jokes and lively conversation.

In short: you were an exceptional person with a large spirit, a mischievous streak, and an enormous heart.
I know I am not objective about you, but any of your surviving friends and family members who knew you
Well will attest to this and more in a nanosecond. You had an incredibly positive, indomitable attitude
That led you to rush in where angels fear to treat not out of foolishness but out of supreme confidence.

Life handed you cartloads of lemons—enough to pickle the most ardent optimist. And you made not just
Lemonade but lemon merengue pie, lemon sorbet, lemon drops, then ground up the rind for sweetest
Rice pudding, flan, fried dough and a dozen other delicacies. And when all the lemons were gone, you sowed the Seeds from which extraordinarily beautiful lemon trees grew with fruit sweeter than grapes, plums, or cherries.

I’ve always said with great pride that you were a far better writer than I. How many excellent novels,
Plays, and poems could you have written with half of my education and three times my workload?
There is no justice in this world. Why does God give bread to those without teeth? Your
Prodigious memory no longer allows you to recognize me. I was the last person you forgot.

But even now when you cannot have a conversation in any language, Sometimes your eyes sparkle, and
You call me “neniño” (my little boy in Galician) and I know that for an instant you are no longer alone.
But too son the light fades and the darkness returns. I can only see you a few hours one day a week.
My life circumstances do not leave me another option. The visits are bitter sweet but I’m grateful for them.

Someday I won’t even have that opportunity to spend a few hours with you. You’ll have no
Monument to mark your passing save in my memory so long as reason remains. An entire
Life of incalculable sacrifice will leave behind only the poorest living legacy of love
In your son who lacks appropriate words to adequately honor your memory, and always will.


*          *          *

The day has come, too son. October 11, 2018. The call came at 3:30 am.
An hour or two after I had fallen asleep. They tried CPR in vain. There will be no more
Opportunities to say, “I Love you,” to caress your hands and face, to softly sing in your ear,
To put cream on your hands, or to hope that this week you might remember me.

No more time to tell you the accomplishments of loved ones, who I saw, what they told me,
Who asked about you this week, or to pray with you, or to ask if you would give me a kiss by putting my
Cheek close to your lips, to feel joy when you graced me with many little kisses in response,
Or tell you “Maybe next time” when as more often than not the case for months you did not respond.

In saying good bye I’d give you the kiss and hug Alice always sent you,
Followed by three more kisses on the forehead from dad (he always gave you three) and one from me.
I’d leave the TV on to a channel with people and no sound and when possible
Wait for you to close your eyes before leaving.

Time has run out. No further extensions are possible. My prayers change from asking God to protect
You and by His Grace allow you to heal a little bit each day to praying that God protect your
Soul and dad’s and that He allow you to rest in peace in His kingdom. I miss you and Dad very much
And will do so as long as God grants me the gift of reason. I never knew what it is to be alone. I do now.

Four years seeing your blinding light reduced to a weak flickering candle in total darkness.
Four years fearing that you might be aware of your situation.
Four years praying that you would not feel pain, sadness or loneliness.
Four years learning to say goodbye. The rest of my life now waiting in the hope of seeing you again.

I love you mom, with all my heart, always and forever.
Written originally in Spanish and translated into English with minor additions on my mom's passing (October 2018).
The mountains are using you
To become conscious too
We are overly optimistic
Of our own accomplishments
So we pretend to make a difference
Would it be any better
If we divided it all by two
And fit more people into this apartment
We'd have room for all our arguments
Though money can never buy you happiness
It can sometimes buy you the truth
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