Tag Archives: girl

Dear Daughter

Years ago, you made your entrance as my tiny princess sitting Indian style.  I prayed I would have a baby girl to love.  I was granted my wish.  It nearly killed me I could not hold you immediately upon seeing your little face but your dad held you near to me so I could gaze upon you (making sure you were swaddled and safe).  As soon as the doctors allowed me to cradle you, into my arms you went.  I can’t believe how fast the years have passed since that first meeting.  I loved you before you were born and knew that I was given a gift straight from heaven.  While it is difficult not being with you to celebrate your birthday (today), please know I am thinking about and loving you right where you are. When we are together, I am astounded that I must glance upwards to look into your eyes.  I see a tall, hard-working, intelligent, young woman who has dreams and goes after them.  You will achieve your goals because you are tenacious (even when life is rough).  You are beautiful inside and out and I am proud to call you my daughter.  No one could ever replace you!  I love you up to heaven and back.  Happy birthday, honey!

Love,

Mom

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This Friday Moment(s)

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. Photos – no words – capturing  moments from my week. Simple, special extraordinary moments ( I know, I know.  I’m a rebel.  Couldn’t pick just one this week!  Too many beautiful children in my life!)

 

 

Moments I want to pause, savor, remember.

This moment is a ritual I found on life inspired by the Wee Man adopted from SouleMama and shared by Sarah – Jane.

Check out their blogs…. They are very interesting and inspirational to read, and if you are moved too, please leave a link to your Moments in the comment box below :-)

Gray Mist

This morning was a foggy one.  Not too common for South Florida.  I still get caught up in the emotions of the mist just as I did when I was a child.  I used to be enthralled with the ghostly weather and would scurry to a quiet place to create, pencil in hand, scratching a mysterious story into existence.  As an adult, I still feel a connection with that young girl.  Only now, in addition to the dash to my quiet place, I acknowledge the uncanny sensation of ties to those who passed.  Who are now caught in a misty limbo of sorts, misconceived as haunters, who are the ones haunted.  I can relate to their restlessness, their shadows.  Memories, donned in disguise, creep in and stir up latent emotions that persist under the conscious radar.  I am left, like a viewer seated on a cold, padded folding chair, in a darkened room.  An old projector flashes images in black and white on the bare wall in front of me:  wet children in soggy socks smiling, laughing their way down a slip and slide,  mockingbirds shrilly calling, waiting, fluttering to land in my cupped palms, greedily gobbling crimson cranberries, a butterfly garden bathed in moonlight, the intoxicating, overwhelming perfume of  night- blooming jasmine, being cradled, feeling safe, protected for the first time in more than a decade, by someone who was my home, although I had been displaced,  whose frame wasn’t four walls and a roof, rather a soul enveloping embrace. The fog has lifted, somewhat, but the pregnant, gray clouds overtly hint at imminent, cleansing precipitation. . .