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Heaven's Melody

on July 24, 2013

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A soul kissed by birds' chatter becomes heaven's melody.

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THIS IS US--- an apology and affirmation to my kids

My daughter and my husband and I have been watching the sitcom This Is Us since the beginning of the Pearsons' existence. This imaginary family has pierced through our emotions and motivations. https://onmilwaukee.com/images/articles/th/this-is-us-recap-fiffth-wheel/this-is-us-recap-fiffth-wheel_fullsize_story1.jpg?20180110105056 My family doesn't live their imaginary life. However, like them, not all has come to what my husband and I had imagined at the outset. We recall those moments we looked into one another's eyes at each of our three babies' arrivals and quietly resolved to be the parent we knew they would need. We pledged deep in our hearts to cradle, to protect, to teach, to serve, and to love in our hearts. We ventured forth through each fast paced day toward making a family life and making life changing decisions with our words and actions, not always aware how each would mark the heart of each of our kids. With a teacher and a policeman for par

A DEVOTION TO THE STANDING OVATION

An hour and fifteen minutes floated ethereally by Friday evening as my sister, mom, and I absorbed stories. We agreed with nodding heads in the common knowing about life and family, smiled at his high dimpled embarrassment, laughed out loud at his family's antics, but we also fell silent and our breath stopped at his pain. They were stories...just his life stories. Stories from the life of Pat Conroy, author of many great books including one that became a movie many people, at least my age, would remember, The Prince of Tides. Okay, admittedly his stories had southern charm, and he was cute in a way that only a nearly seventy year old Irish man can be depicted. But the human heart bled from the hate he bore from endured abuse by his father, and yet our hearts along with his heart were cauterized by his discovered humanity within his father and by the miraculous arm of forgiveness wrapped around his father near his death. At the end of his telling, there hung that comp

LIVING PASSIONATELY IN THE WEAKNESS OF ALS: DEDICATED TO MY UNCLE

(Dedicated to honoring my Uncle Dave who has valued strength and passion his whole life, who now faces his next greatest act of bravery: living passionately in the weakness of a life with ALS.) When you see a strong memoried man stare straight into his short future, your head spins his direction. From my angle, I can't quite see his screen, but I see his reflection as in the darkness of a TV screen. His silence shallow breathes words with his eyes. There's sweet assuredness mingling with pain and doubt like whiskey and coke. But his wrestle with the hard life ahead can't be watered down like sinking ice cubes. The slow sweet drink of Coke won't drown out the strength of this bitter taste of the lowball he's been handed. Certainly, he'd say he's been slid a strong kicking tumbler. In this part of life's ride, he's facing the frustration of a stop sign on a steep hill. Smoothly moving on is putting his control and riding skills to the tes

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