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myPetchild.com Rani Tuchman was much more than just a Bichon Frise, to me, he was my child. When Rani passed away in my arms after a long illness, I was heartbroken. He was my constant companion for 14 years. I couldn’t imagine a world without Rani. He had been a source of comfort and love throughout my own chronic illness which caused me to be housebound for many years. But in the last year of Rani’s life I was the one who was taking care of him. When Rani died, it felt like part of me had died. For days I cried and grieved. My partner, Adam, felt helpless. Not quite knowing how to ease my grief, he suggested I gather pictures of Rani and make a collage, in the hopes that that would help me lessen my sadness. I began sorting Rani’s photographs, but I found it too painful to make the memorial. The next day, Adam discovered the pictures and set to work to make a slideshow tribute to Rani. It truly was an act of love…for two days he put together an animation of Rani’s happiest moments in order to cheer me up. When it was completed, I watched it over and over again. The slideshow showed Rani at his most joyous: when he was playing with children. The images of Rani’s suffering in his final days were now replaced with images of Rani’s joyous life. And as I watched, my heart began to heal. I sent the movie out as a link to a few friends and family, and they in turn sent it to their friends and family. And then before we knew itour little movie of Rani began. We heard from people in England, California, Hawaii. Australia, Sweden, Arizona…They spoke of how they could feel Rani’s spirit of unconditional love through the movie and how it moved them to tears. They remembered their own pet children who had passed away and who had touched their lives with unconditional love. And so myPetchild.com was born. It is dedicated to our pet children past and present who have opened our hearts to unconditional love. They are the true healers. Julia Tuchman, Rani’s mommy (and co-founder of myPetchild.com) Autoimmune Disease Do you or anyone you know have chronic fatigue, fibromyalgia, chronic lyme disease or other autoimmune diseases? Scott has been chronically ill since 1997. In the past nine years, he has seen over 45 doctors and spent over $100,000 in quest of answers. In July 2005, Scott was diagnosed with Lyme Disease. He then started a web site www.BetterHealthGuy.com as a way to tell his story and to learn from the experiences of others. Learn a bit more about Scott's story and his approach to treatment using conventional, integrative, and alternative therapies. "That Night" by Jill Sharpe You sat there that night Nervous yet exhilerated To have found the perfect friend In me. You sat there that night Wringing your hands, My presence was intoxicating And you stuttered searching for words. You sat there that night Spilling your soul. I could see it leaking onto the interior Of your mother's car, in vain. You sat there that night Flesh burning hands twitching- Yearning for the courage To look me in the eyes. You sat there that night Expressing your gratitude While laying your baggage out For me to dust off then cast away. You sat there that night Praising my inner wisdom That you could not seem to find Within yourself. I sat there that night Silently acknowledging the heat in the air Knowing you would never take that Leap of faith into my open arms. "Symbolism" by Jill Sharpe I stand here missing the real you. She wrote poems honoring her health. The word ch'i cries out to be recognized as vital energy. She wrote poems about the basic skill of being able to separate thinking from feeling. Be gentle when you touch bread - you use your intelligence to create the truth. She wrote poems stating; "Remove yourselves from your personal drama and realize that it is all symbolic." I stood there searching for the real you. But that would lead to anarchy! Everything is burning... Everything is dust. Confidence has been a central issue for everyone. -- Seven hundred stories Some speak of shame Some speak of glory; And it all begins again With me. To Zambia With Love For a long time I underestimated my ability to make a difference. Through sponsoring Edina Muumbu, who will be 3 years old in February, I see that one person can make a massive difference in one child's life. My mission is to save 100 lives in 100 days. The mortality rate for children in Lusaka in Zambia is alarmingly at 18%. I would love you to join me in my mission, to make a difference for a generation of little girls in Zambia. After you sponsor your Zambian princess, please send an email to me along with your confirmation. I am putting a book together with photographs of everyone participating in the project holding a photo of their sponsored child. I'm working on the possibility of a photographer being involved, but I will keep you posted! Every December, I'm going to collect an updated photo of you with an updated photo of your sponsored child, and we can track the progress of our community making a difference for our sponsored children's community. The project is unfolding rapidly so stay tuned for developments. Below is information about Children International and the powerful and tangible work they are doing to facilitate children becoming healthy, educated and self-reliant adults. I am hosting an event in NYC on the 13th of December to celebrate the project and for us all to find out more about this phenomenal organization, and I'll update this page when the details are finalized. My project runs until January 2nd. If you would like to take on a greater role I'd love to hear from you. Please feel free to forward this link to anyone in your life you think may like to join us. To Zambia With Love, Karen xo http://ci.convio.net/site/TR?pg=personal&fr_id=1040&px=1305041 Once you click on this link you will see a few paragraphs I've written about the project, (which I've copied below) and at the left, a thermometer with the words SPONSOR NOW underneath. Click on this link and there will be little Zambian girls waiting to be sponsored. After you sponsor your child, please put my email address in the section where it asks if you'd like to send a picture of your child to family and friends. There have already been so many amazing developments with this project and I am thrilled you are going to be a part of it. A Poem by Quinten Taylor, 7 years old by Ellen Hi all, This is from Heidi Volz, one of “my kids” meaning one of the four kids I nannied for in Nashville and with whom I am still close. So, I am sending this as a proud “grand nanny”. Quinten Taylor has one of the sweetest, most sensitive spirits I’ve ever seen in a child with an amazing relationship with God that is obvious to anyone who spends anytime with him. When I stayed with his family in Missouri as I was driving cross country he gave his shoe box to Lucy (my cat who found refuge in the box in his closet) and gave me one of his pogs to stay another night. This poem so captures his spirit. I pray that this beautiful spirit doesn’t get quenched. I had to share. These were the simple directions given to him: Write a poem about yourself describing your personalites and characteristics. Your words can rhyme or they can just describe you. It's a name poem. (Granted his first name starts with a Q, so he decided to use his middle name. A little bit easier.) This is what he wrote. I have written it per letter by him, misspellings and all. To be exiting I found this very profound for boy who goes to public school, wrote it while in school, and doesn't attend church on a regular basis. Enjoy and share as you feel to do so. The Goddess Is Gone by Heather Eatman Back in the time before there was running water and electric lights, I was a young singer songwriter who didn't know the meaning of the word commercial. So I simply wrote music in the genres that I liked, which included genres popular in the 30s, 40s and 50s. By the time I was signed to my first record deal, I had accumulated quite a bit of original material that was jazzy and swingy. However, when I got signed, I was told that pop was the way to go if I wanted to have a career. All of this material was abandoned ... until now. Doll Hospital is my new band composed of jazz musicians and me whose mission it is to revisit these quirky, noir story-songs -- titles including: Face Down, Bluebird Ballroom, The Goddess is Gone, My Ex-Wife, Charlie Takes the Cake, etc. In this band, I play my big archtop jazz guitar, Nick Mancini plays vibraphone, and Andy Burns and Jim Whitney are on drums and bass respectively. The goddess is gone 
Three Photos by Joy Guest
Proud by Rachael Sage www.rachaelsage.com when I am with you I am proud... proud to be with you proud to be heard proud to be seen, I admit (breathtaking as you are) if your shadow were not hovering loudly I'd sing, vibrations permitting my heartbeat to say what little I'm willing to articulate; that despite being slightly less than twice your age I've been meditating in wisterian ways upon gardens of charming I'd vowed... vowed to be disciplined vowed to behave vowed to learn from so many slow mistakes, cruelly as I've learned what yet readily I'm soul-tempted to dismiss (yes!) I'd swing, from vine to vine in my red reckless way with spiritless common sense lurking hot below a boiling river of what I should know at bay 'midst affection's naive afterglow. If time is an illusion, why is my past still pissing me off? Because whenever you "remember" something from the past, you "reanimate" it in the present. It’s not a philosophical statement to say that everything happens in the present---it’s the truth. Think about it. We remember the past and make predictions for the future all in the present moment. We experience reality only in the now. For millennia, mystics (and more recently, scientists) have informed humankind that time is an illusion. But we’re so tied to our stories about the past (you know, how badly we were treated as children, teenagers, etc.) and our desires for the future (yes, all those worthwhile goals such as financial abundance, powerful positions, etc.) that we can’t see that what we focus our attention on in the moment is our reality. Every time we review painful memories from childhood, we give them life and confirm our sense of powerlessness. While we pray for more money in the future, we do nothing more than affirm our feelings of lack. So, what’s the answer? Stop dreaming, stop thinking, stop remembering? Well, yes, as a matter of fact. If time is merely a construct, we can choose to deconstruct it. Without time, there is no death and we are free to simply be. The function of time is to get us to realize that it doesn’t exist. That just might be the key to enlightenment. www.spiritualchicks.com SM & Copyright © 2002 K. Weissman & T. Coy A poem about Mother by Hendricks Malone Osborne Mom was as Irish as a shamrock With beauty as delicate as Dad's rose garden A faith of steel coupled with a brittle body That walked with grim determination To Fisher's market with a pocketbook Twirling on her right arm like a cute propeller Mother and the four of us Were as close as sunrise and horizon Because we never doubted her love Her quick hands kneaded Old fashioned salt rising bread Hot dogs at noon on school day Coffee so hot it would burn her tonsils A little lady in a rocker talking with God Reading the Bible in a print dress and believing Epilepsy not erasing her hope for healing Her affliction putting a cloud over Her being, yet overcoming What was Mother's response to suffering? Fresh doughnuts for her children On a winter's morn Others would be bedridden Ruth played "Blessed Quietness" On an old piano Through it all her Irish eyes Never stopped smiling Her love for family and God Never stopped growing Her children's hearts Never stop remembering God's love through her Never stops permeating And old beggars she fed Are still celebrating Mom, your shenanigans are in Kansas, Maryland, Florida and Ohio With the 4 of us 9 years after you graduated To your halls of Higher happiness Your children still smile At the mention of your name So get out the old gray Jokebook, kids And read of Pat and Mike Rejoice that Ruth passed by And made us wink at life. A New Awareness by Marge Oliver In August of 1979, I moved back to Ohio where much of my childhood was spent. This time, however, I came with my daughters. Andrea was 1 1/2 years old and Amy was 11 months old. We moved into a townhouse on a pleasant street. I got babysitters for my daughters and a job at at a Malone College. Life was good again, and my divorce had just become final. We felt safe, secure, and were beginning to live life as our own little family. The landlord and his girlfriend who lived next door seemed friendly enough. Tim was always more than glad to be of assistance. He painted my downstairs and helped with miscellaneous tasks. Julie, his common law wife, had a daughter about 1 1/2 years old, and she was pregnant. It was about 6 months later when one day I came home, unlocked the kitchen door, and an eerie feeling came over me. It was the feeling you get when on Halloween you enter a haunted house. I felt tentative, and the hair on my neck seemed to stand up. For the first time, I felt scared. We went in, and I became busy with dinner preparations while both girls got involved playing with their favorite toys. After dinner, I walked up the stairs. It was bath time. I started to walk into the bathroom and there it was, this strange sensation flowing over me again. I felt as if someone had been in there who wasn't supposed to be. I looked around and noticed my sage green rug was not lying in front of the sink. That was strange. I hadn't done laundry in a couple of days. I noticed that Andrea's potty chair was not positioned next to the bathtub. That was very strange, too. Had the girls moved things around while I was in the kitchen? I looked further upstairs, no rug, no potty chair to be found anywhere. As I continued looking, the realization hit me. Some of Amy's darling little dresses and sweaters were missing. I started freaking out! I went down to the basement, but there was no sign of the missing items there either. I started to think, "Am I nuts? Maybe I moved these things when I was in a hurry and forgot?" That seemed to be the most logical explanantion. Afterall, I was the mother AND the father these days and seemed to be always running late. So I let it all go, thinking "Marge, you've really got to get a grip on yourself!" A week later, one day I came home and experienced that same feeling that had grabbed me the week before. "Something is not right," I thought. I looked around the house before beginning to make dinner. Something was weird. I looked in the hutch. I knew something was wrong, and yet I didn't know what. I had strange sensations flowing over my entire body. The kids began playing. As I was peeling potatoes over the kitchen sick, it hit me. The girls' Mickey Mouse piggy bank was not on the windowsill. It had been almost full of various tinkling coins. Where was it? I knew I had left it there that morning. Then I also realized that my diamond ring and my opal ring were gone! I always had put them on the windowsill when I washed dishes, and had accidentally left them there. Someone had been in my apartment! I called the police. I was scared, angry, frustrated, and fearful. Who could it be? Had anybody seen anyone around my doors that day? The police arrived. I tried not to sound hysterical. I told them all the facts and tried to keep the emotion out of my story. All the time I wanted to scream, "Somebody has broken into my house!" Would they come back when we were there? Would they hurt my children or me? The police made a report. They were nice and seemed to take my report seriously. They asked me if anyone else had a key to our townhouse. I couldn't think of anyone. The manager and I were the only two people who had keys that I knew of. A couple of weeks passed. Then one day, returning home with my daughters and groceries, the phone rang. It was my neighbbor at the far end of the complex. She told me that she had seen Julie coming out of my apartment that morning with her skirt wrapped around something. I looked throughout my home and found more missing items: my sewing machine, my iron, figurines from my hutch, the second potty chair that I had purchased a few weeks earlier, and a ham from my refrigerator. I kept thinking as I roamed through my house, "How could our neighbhor do this? She seemed so nice and friendly. After all, she has a little girl too!" I called the police a second time. They arrived and began asking questions. I told them what my neighbor had witnessed that morning. I wanted them to go over and search Julie and Tim's home. I was sure my belongings would be there. They responded that unless I was sure that they'd find my things, it could mean more trouble for me. A woman alone, two young daughters, no weapons, and a thief next door! I had really had it by then. I called the rental office and complained. They did not take my complaint seriously. I let some time pass as I tried to figure out what to do. I knew that if I moved out and broke my lease, I would not get my deposit back of $700. We needed that money. All of our belongings of any worth were gone. The lease would be up at the end of August. I thought to myself, "I'll tough it out." A few months later, one Sunday morning, I was getting the girls ready for church. We were hustling around, I got them breakfast, and was getting their smocked dresses out of the upstairs closet. Then I suddenly heard a blood curtling scream...then another...then...please stop....sobbing....a child crying....and a man cursing. It was coming from next door, from Tim and Julie's apartment, the manager's apartment, the thief's apartment! "Mommy, mommy, what is that?" My daughters were scared. My nerves were frayed, tears were welling up in my eyes, and I said, "girls, maybe their tv is on really loud." They seemed to accept that explanation. We were out the door and on our way to church. I kept asking myself, "How have we managed to live almost a year in this place?" I decided we had to move. I borrowed a friend's van. With the welfare of my daughters at stake, $700 didn't seem like alot of money. We were moving NOW. My sister agreed to watch my daughters. I started to load up the van. I didn't have much. I came back to the townhouse at 3PM that afternoon. Exhausted, but feeling as though it was time to move on, I was determined to put the terror of the last year behind us. I unlocked my kitchen door to take a last look around. I heard crying from the manager's apartment. I opened my front door and saw a policeman carrying all of Julie and Tim's belonging to the curb. They were being evicted. "Ah Ha," I thought to myself. Finally some justice! I sat down on my front step as my neighbor from the far end of the building approached. She said, "well, how much of your stuff do you think they will be bringing out?" Then I heard the cry of a newborn baby and saw the oldest girl hanging on to her mother's leg, sobbing. Policeman were removing bottles from the empty refrigerator, and almost everything was on the curb. Tim was being sent off to jail, they were losing the apartment. Julie was left there with 2 little girls, no money and no resources. A strange, prickly feeling flowed through my body, but this time I wasn't scared. I went up to her and said, "Julie, I'd like to help you if I can. I have a van, and I'd be happy to take you and the kids out of here. Do you have any place to stay?" As I looked into her eyes, I saw emptiness. At that moment, I felt all of the bitterness that had been building inside of me for months crack and fall off my shoulders. A warm surge of love took its place. I grabbed the little girl, and Julie followed me with her baby. Ten minutes later we arrived at an address in a pretty rough part of town. Julie said, "here it is." We climbed the long staircase. She fumbled with the new key. I helped her into a musty smelling living room. The first thing that caught my eye was a little light on a dresser that made my heart fall down to my knees. It was the little jeweled painted egg light that my grandmother had given to me! "Oh Julie, how could you? What have I ever done to you?" Beside it were other precious items that had been presents from dear friends who lived in California. Julie began to cry and said, "don't put me in jail, please please! You can have it all back!" My heart softened. This young woman had less than I. My body tingled. "Julie, if these things mean that much to you, you may have them. People mean more." I asked if they had food. She replied, "No." I said, "c'mon, let's go get something to eat. I took them to Wendy's. In the van, on the way back, she asked me why I was helping her. The only words that came out of my mouth were, "Because Jesus loves me and you." I asked for only one thing, the ring that my daughter's father, my ex-husband, had given me. I said, "I want my girls to have that someday." We went back to the townhouse, and she came out with the ring. I felt love for Julie and her children. I also thought about how much mercy God had shown ME through the years, and with this a realization that my new life was beginning. That day I promised God that no matter what would come my way, THINGS would never come between my love for Him and being obedient to what he asks of me. I walk though this story with my students every year. If it touches the life of one student, my living has not been in vain. Snow by David Gersten www.aminoacidpower.com There's nothing to learn Only to remember To remember Looking past the years The joy and tears The changing beliefs in what is real I am five years old again Racing to see the snow falling Because it is falling And perhaps to catch one snowflake Just for an instant To capture its mystical beauty in my hand And in my mind Before it melts I am running into the snow Six inches deep I can almost get lost in it I pick up a handful And mold it like clay Because it does mold Into snowballs and castles I am thirteen And happy to awaken to a snowy morning I shovel the sidewalk and steps for many houses And can earn a few dollars I save the money I am sixteen driving my '54 Ford Fairlane With 420 horses under the hood Proud to take my friends to school It's a blizzard I forget which way the traffic flows on 13th street And make the wrong decision I step on the gas and experience My first car accident Many snow-related car accidents would follow I rode my bicycle miles to medical school Through slushy snow I don't know why exactly Perhaps there was limited parking for cars at school I was strong and tougher than snow Still the snow would capture me I learned how to spin my Saab around and around 360 degrees through an icy intersection - on purpose I'm twenty-six, married with a child And happy to be starting my psychiatry residency In beautiful San Diego Far from the snow Very far from snow and cold winters Safe from the snow Are Californians happier than others? No The ocean always called me Jones Beach age three My father holding my hand While the waves took his swim suit Down to his ankles Thirty years later I still love the ocean To swim and boogie board To feel the power of this giant Pacific To laugh when she tosses me upside down Thrashes me against the pebbled ocean floor I laughed and ran back out into the waves Over and over again Now I sit at the water's edge Drinking in the sunset The most extraordinary painting And thanking Mother Earth For the wet sand beneath my feet This is where I, Silver Wolf, Hold my shamanic ceremonies I'm a Hindu, I'm Silver Wolf A Lakota Indian, a doctor, a cowboy, a composer I'm respected I always believed in the truth of Michelangelo And Da Vinci One man can do many things well They are my heroes along with Zorba But the bills pile higher through the years Deep in meditation And contemplation on the words Of great saints and sages I have pondered this reality Progressing so far, so fast They call me a genius They always have They do not understand That I just tear down walls And watch the light Pouring through the cracks Ha! We are all geniuses But few of us will tear down walls In learning what I am I have come to believe That, like you, I am God A mighty river that will Merge with the sea Year by year I learn more And become a simpler man Each day is Halloween It's all make believe I can dress as doctor, casual Californian Hindu in whites, Lakota in blue jeans Cowboy boots and buckskin Who has hidden my yarmulke? It's quite fun because I know it's Halloween And one day I will slip out of this body The same way I slip out of a tuxedo or tennis shoes The more I learn The more I know That there is nothing to learn There is much to unlearn And much to remember I know that Now is the only Time And I know Time and Space do not exist I know that Divine Love is the goal and the path And I'm remembering Sticking my tongue out On a cold winter day long ago Trying to catch one snowflake For no reason whatsoever It's cold. It's safe Mainly, it's fun And I have no idea why I am standing barefoot in the snow I am five years old And I am remembering Slowly remembering That everything there ever was to know Exists in the dance that children know And adults forget I'm just trying to remember Snow Carly -Age 3 You know what I do if I see a Lion in the woods? I whack it I whack it I whack it. Miracle by Rossana Snee What is a miracle? The silent voice peaking from behind your daily chatter; the fleeting thought, God's whisper, whispering he loves you no matter; the knowing you're not alone, but guided through each second, minute, lifetime. What is a miracle? Music, poetry, the muse creating beauty, art, perfection in simplicity. What is a miracle? Love, unconditional, everlasting, always present. What is a miracle? God. And you . . . her hands in Earth's affairs. A true story name withheld When I was 17 years old, I started hanging around a crowd that wasn't so great. I ended up going out with different guys that were bad for me, and to make a long story short, I got pregnant. I was really freaked out, because I was so young and had no job or money for a child and wanted to finish school. Plus the guy who got me pregnant would have made a really bad father, and he didn't care about me. I knew I had made a huge mistake and I felt horrible, but being sorry didn't change reality. I was pregnant. I didn't know what to do. I thought about having an abortion. In the end, I decided not to. I thought about giving my baby up for adoption too, but that also felt SO hard. So I decided I was going to keep the baby. I knew it didn't seem logical or rational to anyone else. My parents were very upset as well, but eventually they agreed to help me. Even though it was such a hard situation, I found myself starting to get attached to this baby. Then one day, I noticed I was bleeding. My mom took me to the hospital. They asked her to bring a sample so they could confirm I had in fact had a miscarriage. In the end, they didn't need the sample, they could tell without it. I cried. My mom and I still had it with us though and didn't know what to do with it. We came home and wrapped up what had been the beginning of my baby, and then I put it into a small jewelry box that my grandmother had given me. I took it out to the backyard and buried it beside a huge old maple tree and then put a rose on top of the ground where it was buried. I said a prayer. About a week later, I went out to dinner with one of my friends. There was a storm, with heavy winds and rain. While we were eating, the storm turned into a tornado and swept right down our street, although we didn't know it at the time. As we drove home and got closer, we noticed all these huge trees down and lots of debris. The street was a mess. Our house was ok, luckily. I ran out to our backyard. I was so scared and I kept thinking about my baby and the rose. Where I had buried the jewelry box, most of the tree branches had been broken off, and the huge trees beside it were completely ripped out of the ground! But I couldn't believe my eyes.... The rose, (which weighed not even one pound) was still in the same place where I had left it, right next to where a tree had been torn down by the wind. It was impossible that the wind could have torn up the HUGE tree in that spot and not even touched the tiny rose. A feeling came over me that God was reassuring me, and in a way it was like He was giving me comfort. 2 Poems By Megan Bergert THE PATIENT SPEAKS OF LIGHT With thanks to Langston Hughes I've known the Northern Lights Aurora Borealis, flashing and pulsating tone spinning down to earth. My soul has learned to look North again. I build my observatory on a frozen rock face, listening to ice floes click beneath my wake, yellow-bruised and predatory. I wait, patiently, in a chair of woven reeds, looking beyond the drenching darkness to bathe in a green phosphorescent fingertip curling slowly downward. I rock between two thin trees, reaching to pull down the specter of yellow green night air, tasting the difference it will make to this night and others; Waiting, Rocking, Swinging out over the cracked rim of the sea. My soul has learned to look North again. Declaration of Independence by Megan Bergert This July 4th while I am celebrating my independence, while I am reveling in my freedom, while I am focused on American the Beautiful . . . I will not buy illegal fireworks and light them with a gas station Bic lighter, then stumble-run away, looking over my shoulder, because someone's brother once lost all his fingers and besides nice families content themselves with sparklers. I will not plant the wilted flowers that I bought in a flurry of indecision as my laundry dried a block away and before my tire would explode and my car would wreck and I would thank God the mess in my trunk wasn't there to fly all over the road because if the association is worried, they can help themselves. I will not sing with Keith Lockhart and the Boston Pops outside on a stage under the night sky watching the fireworks explode as I hit my high C because I will be writing instead because I chose to teach. I will not concern myself with illusions, I will not allow myself to be deluded. I will eat strawberries with the children beneath the forgiving shade of a tree. Thoughts from Jenny Baxley Lee So this is where I am at.Starting my own small business so that I can be near this little girl, just 11 weeks in the world... And trying so hard to let go of her, already, and not cling so desperately to each part of her so quickly growing, changing and slipping through a mother's fingers... Starting a business at this time is a struggle, a huge risk, but it is the work of my heart. As I ask the universe for guidance, and I open the pages of a favorite book of poetry here is what I find: "I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.I want to free what waits within me so that what no one has dared to wish for may for once spring clear without my contriving. If this is arrogant, God, forgive me, but this is what I need to say. May what I do flow from me like a river, no forcing and no holding back, the way it is with children. Then in these swelling and ebbing currents, these deepening tides moving out, returning, I will sing you as no one ever has, streaming through widening channels into the open sea". (from Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God) Here finds me. Blessings to you. Thoughts from Jaimie When I got to college, I wasn't fortunate enough to place out of language classes all together. I was placed in a particular class that was spoken completely in French, and I did not understand a word my professor said. So one day, as I was attempting to learn the conjugation of "to stop", or something like that, my eyes kind of drifted over to the other side of the long table we all sat at. I noticed, for the first time, how much one of the boys in my class resembled a character from this really old, completely cheesy 80s movie my friend Charity and I used to watch as kids. Now, Charity was killed when I was a senior in high school. So I looked out the window and in my thoughts I said, "Hey Cha, get a look at this kid, he looks just like Cru." Immediately after I said it, a bird flew by and landed in the tree right outside the window of my classroom. And yeah, maybe it was just a coincidence. But to me, it was like she was listening and the bird was her way of saying, "I'm here, and I know what you mean." A Home for the Puppies Tim Connelly When my wife and I first moved to Wilmington, our finances were non-existent and our credit was shot. She had been offered a good job so we made the move on faith, in a broken down van that had no reverse gear. I found this ugly little dog and rescued it from running wild outside a local restaurant. Sharon was not thrilled with me for bringing it home to our apartment. We named her Sia for reasons I no longer remember. She loved me very much for reasons that were very obvious: I fed her, played with her, and gave her loads of attention. One day when I came home, she was nowhere to be found. I thought to myself, has the nosy maintenance man discovered she's here and taken her from the apartment. We had no pet permit so we were harboring her against the rules of the lease. But as I searched for her, to my amazement I found her with 4 puppies in the closet! Talk about being in the dark, we had no idea she was carrying puppies. There was no way to keep them. We simply didn't have the money to pay the pet deposit. And besides, we were allowed to only have one pet, not 5. So reluctantly, I called the Humane Society and told them I needed to find a home for a mother dog and her 4 puppies. Somebody there was very friendly and told me to bring them in. So I drove there with my son and had to park my van at an odd angle (remember I had no reverse gear; it had not worked in more than a year). Once again the Humane Society person was very nice and as I walked out with the puppies safely in their hands, I turned around and asked how long they would seek a home for them. 3 days was the usual time limit I was told. 3 days? "We are often successful in finding a home", I was told. "What happens if you don't?" The answer was simply not acceptable. However, taking the puppies home was not an option. I asked the lady to give me some time to consider my options. And then, the decision was made. "I can't leave them here. I'm taking them back home." What in the world am I going to do now, I wondered. How am I going to explain this to Sharon? As I struggled to get the van out of the space, I became more and more frustrated. We pushed and shoved but nothing. I shifted it into reverse and it backed up with no hesitation. My mouth was wide open with the thought that I was being rewarded for not putting these puppies to sleep. And sure enough, we were able to keep the puppies at our apartment, use our reverse gear, and eventually find homes for the puppies. I'm sure there's a logical explanation: surely there are no special rewards for caring about defenseless, innocent animals. But a week after the final puppy left us, the reverse gear went out again, never to return. The Picture Perfect Family Becky Groves We’ve always been the picture perfect family. We were envied because of our bright photographic smiles in all our family pictures. Our teenage children had never been in trouble a day in their lives. They all got straight A’s on their report cards. They volunteered in our community and have held jobs since they were in their early teens. All of them bought their own cars, pay for their own clothes, and have grown up to be responsible young adults. We took them to church every Sunday and instilled values into them that any parent would be proud of. On Martin Luther King Day 2003, my son sent e-mails to myself, his dad, and his sisters telling us that he is gay. This was something that was not a shock to me. It had crossed my mind many times while Adam was growing up. This was the day it would be confirmed. I can’t say that I went through some of the things that other parents go through when they find out their child is gay. I was confident that I had done an excellent job parenting my children. My only regret was that maybe I should of talked to Adam about it sooner because he did go through a period in his life where he was deeply depressed and suffered from severe anxiety. Maybe my telling him that I knew would of saved him that. My husband was more shocked. He questioned his parenting thinking things like “I should of took him hunting and fishing when he was little” or “I should of made him go out for sports.”. I assured him that these things had absolutely nothing to do with Adam being gay. I immediately went online and ordered some books to read not only for myself, but for my husband also. One of Adam’s sisters was not shocked, the other more so, ut both were accepting from the very beginning. Adam knew that we all loved him no matter what. I was very scared for Adam to tell my parents, especially my Dad. My Dad has always been very opinionated about homosexuality and not in a positive way. Adam was so brave when he told them face to face what he had been hiding for years. My Dad told Adam that he loved him no matter what and nothing would change that. Of course, they went through their own struggles with acceptance but their love for Adam did not change. Adam in his quest to meet people who were like him, found a group called PFLAG. (Parents, Friends, and Family of Lesbians and Gays) He urged me to meet with the President and I did. We had a nice talk and I discovered that we had gone through almost identical emotions in accepting our sons’ homosexuality. She invited me to come to the PFLAG meetings and I accepted. It is almost two years later and now my husband attends meetings also. I have been elected to serve on the board at PFLAG. I have become an advocate for gay rights by writing editorials in the paper, talking to people and even gave a presentation in front of my weight loss support group. There was not a dry eye in the room. My son instant messaged me the other day on the computer saying “I love you Mom! I think what you did for me and what you are doing for me is incredible!” I wish all gay children could be loved as much as mine is. It is my personal goal to talk and advocate and put a face on homosexuality changing one heart and one mind at a time. Homosexuality happens in real families. It happened in mine! | ||||||||||
| ©2005 Jo Davidson. All Rights Reserved. |