Where flowers go to die.

I always wondered what you'd be
If  you weren't you, but were me?
Would your life had somehow seem
like a nightmare or a dream?

I always wondered if our paths
would somehow cross or would they crash?
would we somehow get to be
a different version of you & me?

In a different time and day
Would we know each other's names?
Would we be a friend or foe?
Would our time be fast or slow?

But, here is where we are....
the two of us like distant stars...
one is bright and one is dim
one is me and one is him..

And instead of in the sky
we are in the place where flowers die
our souls somehow intertwined
like two stars aligned

I always wondered what'd you think
if we sat and had a drink
if I asked about your life
about your moments of love & of strife

and as the sands of time they fall
i start to think of all
the things you haven't said
the memories in your head

I'll always wonder more and more
as i watch the closing door
how i wish there was more time...

how i wish there was more time....


-P

I worry.

Morning waking.  Sun shining, thoughts brewing alongside the coffee.

I worry.

The day begins.  Schedules to follow, places to go.  Anxiety somehow creeps into my purse like carry on luggage.

I worry.

There is little down time.  A minute or two to scarf down some lunch.  Yesterday's leftovers with a side of panic.

I worry.

When will it all get done?  Sun is setting as the winter solstice heads toward us.  Darkness setting in so many ways.

I worry.

I wash away the day, hoping to wash away so much more.  My thoughts only quiet when my eyes are closed, and then, I dream.

And, I worry.

The Healing. Part I.

For a moment there are tears. 


We are all gathered in our misery. 


Slowly the crowds fade, and I am left with only you; my grief.


We have become unwitting partners, thrust together in comfort and

now bound together in memories. 


Life begins to move around us and I try to move with it, believing time has began to heal. 


Then you appear, from the shadows, your weepy hymn humming in my heart. 


In my yearning for an ache less soul, my fear is to forget you. 
How you loved. How you filled my heart. How you healed me.

I try to remember what you sounded like or how you felt in my arms. 


Guiltily I want to hurt less but will that mean I won't remember you more either?


And so, reluctantly, I take grief’s hand, hoping to keep you close....he understands my plight. He knows how much I miss you...he keeps me company as I play back all of our yesterday's in the movie theater of my mind.

Chloe.

I am gone now.

It’s been nearly a month since I’ve left and even though I am physically absent, I am still here.

I can still see my humans.  I spend most of my time in the same spots that I did when I was alive.  The only difference is that they can’t see me.  I can see my mom.  She cries a lot.  She will just be doing normal things like cooking or washing the dishes when she starts to daze out of the window and her face becomes ugly with tears.  She stays there for a few moments, oblivious to the little human who watches her from a short distance away, as she cries softly and whispers my name.  The little human is called Nana.  She doesn’t really outwardly show how much my absence has affected her.  She has refused to cry and has chosen to not talk about me.  Her only acknowledgment was on the first day of my absence.  That evening she asked our mom, “So are we going to pick up Chloe or is she staying at the doctor forever?”  Our mom couldn’t answer her and once poppa started to say to her, “Chloe’s body didn’t work anymore” Nana simply turned and walked away without shedding a tear.  My humans were worried.  They didn’t want her to forget me or not understand that I wasn’t there anymore.  But she knew.  And she understood too:  more than either one of them realized.

That first night was a strange one.  I still wasn’t used to not being here.  I waited for the urgency of a full bladder and waited around for that all too familiar trickle that I couldn’t control, but nothing happened.  I waited around for that feeling of hunger as well.  I waited to hear my stomach rumbling and that yearning for something delicious like turkey bacon. Again, I waited for a long time and nothing happened.  I understood that I wasn’t here.  I remembered being at the vet’s office and being cradled in Kate’s arms.  I remember hearing her whispering that it would be okay as tears streamed down her face.  I could hear my mom wailing in the background as my poppa unsuccessfully tried to console her.  The doctor had given me a needle.  Everything seemed to go fuzzy.  A darkness started to fill in on the corner of my eyes and there was a funny taste in my mouth.  My heart began to race slightly and suddenly, there was nothing.  I remember hearing lots of crying and Kate screaming out, “Chloe!” and I remember seeing her holding me tighter.  My mom was battling herself.  Aching for one last look but being unable to reach out toward me.  I could see it all happening, but I suddenly realized, I couldn’t feel them anymore.  I couldn’t feel my humans touch.

That was the first time I cried.  But it wasn’t a regular cry or whimper like I was used to.  It was a warm sensation that seemed to spread from my core.  From somewhere deep in my belly there was a slow radiating warmth that began to overwhelm me and suddenly, I felt very sad.  I couldn’t really explain what was happening or why I was feeling the way I was but I just knew that things had changed and I wasn’t sure I was going to like it. 

And so, I struggled that first night.  I found myself in my grandmother’s house.  Even though my humans didn’t live there, for me, it was always the place I called ‘home’.  So it was not too surprising that I was still here and well here in my ‘home’.  I sat in the hallway, the same place where my humans had kept me for the last few days.  I had been making sick everywhere so they confined me to this small space and let me make sick on the marble so that my grandmother wouldn’t have to clean up after me on the rug or hard wood floors.  As I sat there, I realized that it looked different.  The gate was gone as were the multitude of wee wee pads situated around my bed.  My bed.  That was gone too.  That’s the first time I thought to myself that I might not be around anymore.  I knew that eventually all living things go.  I had heard countless stories and had watched countless friends leave before me.  I was prepared, in a sense, to go.  It was part of life, my instinct had told me.  I had lost my best friend only a few years back and was prepared to meet him the day that I would leave.  And so, I thought I had left, but he was nowhere to be found and I surely wasn’t at any rainbow bridge that my mom had talked about. 

“Choppy?” I called out in my mind, trying to summon my friend from some great beyond.  I waited for a sound.

There was nothing.  There was only a deafening silence that filled my ears in such a quiet way that it began to fill in every space in my head, taking up space as if there was a vast, empty void inside of me.

I began to shudder, and quite violently.  I found it rather amusing that in my first life I was quite the nervous dog and even in this after life, I still found myself scared.  The silence frightened me.  I began to do a panicked search for my life companion Bouli.  He is my grandmother’s dog but we spent most of our time together.  He wasn’t as protective over me as Choppy, but he was there whenever I needed him.  I had to find him and see if he could help explain what was going on.  I treaded quickly into the kitchen, past my water bowl (which was no longer there!) and I found myself in my grandmother’s bedroom.  I skidded onto the hard wood floors but the “click click” of my paws weren’t registering as they used to.  My grandmother’s soft snoring could be heard up above and I looked up at her mile-high mattress.  Her one leg hung off the edge of the bed limply and I yearned to reach up and tap it, hoping to get her to notice me and pick me up as she did countless times over the years.  I struggled to lift myself, but couldn’t and so I walked over to the other side of the bed where my grandfather slept.  I attempted to take in his smell: a combination of body musk and wool (from his blazer that he wore, day in and day out) and I lifted my snout into the air and took in three rapid breaths in: sniff, sniff, sniff.  But just like the deafening silence, there was nothing.  I paced back and forth, the worry propelling me like a wind up toy when I sensed someone looking at me.  I followed the sensation and looked up toward the top of the bed.  From above, Bouli watched down toward me, perched up on his somnolent throne.  I caught his gaze but his eyes keep darting from side to side, avoiding making direct eye contact.

“Why are you avoiding me friend?” I asked with my mind.  Hoping he would answer my question as he did countless times over the years we spent together.

He ignored me.  His eyes shifed: first to the left and then to the right. 

“Friend?” I asked again.

He stood up, his body seeming tense and his head bowed down, as if he was trying to listen closely.  A wave of hope seemed to radiate through me.  It felt like a soft whisper inside of me.  It’s a much more pleasant feeling than the warm seep of sadness I felt before and it helped to encourage me to try again.

“Friend! Look at me! Here I am Bouli! I am here! Look at me! Please!” I said in an imploring tone.  I try to send a wag, hoping that the communication I knew how to use in my old life still seemed to work, but I couldn’t move my tail.  I looked back at my tail, and shot a look of disappointment at my appendage.  I felt the hope seem to diminish and I turned back toward Bouli, hoping to use up any last portion of this wonderful feeling to get through to him.

“Bouli! Please! I don’t want to play a game right now! I need help!” I begged.  I began to feel some type of exhaustion, an achy dullness filling my heart.

Bouli was looking down, and it seemed that he was looking straight at me.  I almost caught a glimmer of recognition in his big, brown eyes but for the life of me , I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t responding to me.  “Why doesn’t he say something?  Why was he acting like he doesn’t know me?  Why was he pretending like he can’t see me?” I thought to myself.  My body, suddenly alive with a light electric buzz running through me.

And then I realized, he wasn’t  pretending.  He couldn’t see me at all.

I was gone.

Karavi

Callie turned quickly away from Dyssi.  She stormed down the deck, her heels clapping against the wood, echoing out into the open sea.  Her fury drove her, her clenched fists propelled her and she gritted her teeth down as she headed toward the life preserver.

“Calliopi Demenidis! Stop this instant!” his voice bellowed behind her. 

She had never heard him use such an angry tone with her and although she could tell he was irate with her, she felt a small twinge of fire inside of her ignite.  She kept moving though, ignoring the flame and grabbing onto the life preserver.  She clutched it in her hands and held it tight against her chest as she whirled around to face him.  She was now face to face with him.  He began to slow considerably as he saw her turn around.  His eyes locked onto hers.  His wet hair flailed in the breeze and his blue eyes had turned an angry shade of red.  His nostrils flared and his chest was heaving up and down.  He was still wearing his bathrobe and she had to stifle a chuckle as she saw that one side of the robe had come loose and half of his soapy body was peeking out at her.  She regained her composure though as he rapproached and squared off her shoulders, ready for a battle.  As the distance between them shrunk she shoved the life preserver out to ensure the distance between them remained sufficient.

“What is this?” he asked in a defensive tone his eyes locking on the life preserver.

She did not reply and simply held the life preserver strongly in front of herself.

They stood like that, for at least two minutes.  His breathing slowly began to steady and her tight grip on the life preserver seemed to soften. 

“I don’t want to keep you here.  I’ve told you that from the very beginning” he said in a calm, soft voice.  She tightened her grip.

“You can’t keep me Dyssi” she said through gritted teeth.

“I never said I could” he replied, taking a step closer.

She took a small step backward, tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

“You expect me to be some type of quiet housewife?  I am not a piece of furniture, something to shine and show off.”

He nodded his head up and down, “I agree”

“Stop talking!” she screamed out. 

He nodded in agreement by shutting his eyes and tilting his head as if to say

‘as you wish’ .

“I gave up my dreams.  I gave up a life that might have been different from this one.  I might have been poor and tired living on a farm, but I would have been happy choosing my own life and making my own decisions.  I was not put here to make you happy and you alone.  I can’t let that go.”

She was breathing heavily, tears rolling down her cheeks.  He looked at her and his eyes pleaded, ‘can I speak?’ and she nodded yes.

“You are always free to go.  I am not here to hold you captive Calliopi mou.  You can go, but just know this, you are very mistaken to think that you would have been happy and making your own decisions on that farm.  My sole purpose is to not make decisions for you, but to help you so that you can make decisions for your own life.  Herding sheep and growing oregano does not afford you the ability to make choices for one’s self “

He waited for a reply but her eyes were blank.  She didn’t appear to be angry or sad.  For that matter, she didn’t seem to exhibit any type of emotions.

He held his hand out toward the sea, motioning to her that she was free to go.  She turned toward his outstretched hand, the Adriatic sea sparkling under the bright August sun.  He kept a close eye on her face, studying her exquisite features, searching for a hint as to what she was thinking.  Her eyes peered intently toward the sea and in an instant, she hugged the life preserver close to her, as if she was going to put it on and then in a split second, she flung it over the railing, out into the open ocean. 

She looked back at him, her shoulders falling as she exhaled deeply.

“Dinner’s at six” she said quietly and walked away.

Grandpa

He stood in front of the mirror, not necessarily admiring his reflection, but trying to make sure that he looked as presentable as possible.   He pulled at the tucked t-shirt so that it hung slightly over his waistband allowing a small sliver of his brown leather belt to show.  As he did this, he repeated to himself, “It’s so nice to meet you. My what a big girl you are!”  He shook his head in disapproval and continued to tuck at the shirt, this time a little more fervency. He had to make it perfect.  He pulled a few more times and then again looked up at his reflection.  His hair had slightly fallen out of place and he gently pushed his coif back into place.  He was lucky that even at his age and after all that he had been through he still had a good full head of hair.  Granted, it was salt and pepper, but it helped him seem distinguished.  Seem being the operative word here, he thought to himself.  He smiled at his reflection, both at the joke and at the fact that he sort of liked what he saw.  His face had weathered over the years but his skin was a lovely olive color.  His eyes crinkled in the corners but their piercing blue color seemed to overshadow any hints of aging that father time tried to throw his way.  He combed down his mustache one more time and then ran the palms of his hands down the front of his t-shirt.  “World’s Best Grandpa” he read out loud.  “Well, alright.  I’m a grandpa” he mused.   He looked over at the corner of the dresser at Cassie’s picture.  He picked up the frame and looked at her big, blue eyes.  She wore her hair in pig-tails and her gigantic grin showed a number of empty spaces where baby teeth once held residence.  She looked a lot like her father but to Mario he only saw his own daughter in his granddaughter’s face and he found himself easily falling back into a sea of memories of Nadia as a little girl.  He could hear her laughter and feel the warmth of her embrace.  Those first seven years of her life were by far the greatest but after age seven their lives started to unravel at the seams and Mario did little to help.   He lost his job and destroyed his marriage.  Over the course of the next ten years, he shut himself up in a drunken stupor, oblivious to the pain that he was causing and unaware of the distance he was creating between him  & his daughter.  Showing up to Nadia’s graduation with a pee-stained set of trousers and the smell of whiskey on his breath was the last straw for Nadia.  That was the last he saw of her.  But now, here was his chance.  To be a family again, and prove he was the “world’s greatest grandpa” like the shirt he bought said. 

Shards of glass...

I paced back and forth, my eyes glued to the floor as shards of tiny glass glittered in the sunlight.  I walked toward the north gate where I could see a tiny flower shop that undoubtedly remained upon strictly on selling floral arrangements to the cemetery across the street and then I turned south to walk toward a gate that showed an old colonial home with a hand-written sign on the window that read ‘Go Home Now’.  The day was hot and humid, which was quite typical of New York City in July.  The beads of sweat trickled down the inside of my thigh and I could feel them strike the pavement like heavy tear drops.  At any other point in my life, I would have been mortified, but now I did nothing to wipe them off. I was far beyond saving myself from any type of embarrassment as I caught a young woman staring at me from across the roadway as she sat perched on her balcony with a notebook in hand.  She was furiously jotting down notes, as she alternately would raise her head to look in my direction.  I didn’t know who she was and at this point, I didn’t really care to know.  I just knew that she must have been judging me, and that really pissed me off.  I’m sure she assumed, just like everyone else did, that I was some type of low-life or drug addict or socialist looking for a hand out.  This was all the furthest from the truth.  In fact, I was a republican who had voted for Bush, supported foreign wars and married a husband who had made tons of money in the stock market.  Naya screamed out to me, “mommy, watch me!” as she raced across the parking lot, weaving in and out of the yellow lines that were once there to help guide a star crossed lovers car into their parking space before they checked in for a night of love-making and vows breaking.  She ran quickly, her Skecher sneakers kicking up dust from the remnants of the renovation that was occurring behind me and I smiled proudly at her. “Great job my little darling!” I shouted in encouragement.  I had stopped to watch her racing against an invisible friend that she was taunting, “I’m beating you! I’m beating you!” and I found my heart aching at the thought that despite it all, she seemed to be ready to win any battle.  “Are you kidding me??” I heard an irate voice behind me as a couple that I had noticed staying here before began to argue.  They were looking down at a piece of paper that was just handed to them and looked to be in disbelief.  I looked over to the door of the main office where I had assumed they had just left from and could only see the shadow of a head behind the screen door.  I began to pace again, waiting for my turn…