Photo by Billy Dehmer

I never read or heard about the myth of the cardinal. My brother died in 2004 too soon and sudden. It was a huge loss in my life. I quit my job and stayed home for 4 months taking care of my parents during this time. I was standing in the kitchen one day and this red cardinal flew to the window and stared right through me. I felt this chill ring threw me and I knew without a doubt his spirit came to me. That bird sat in that tree for a year and every time I went to the kitchen window there it was. I told that story to my parents and

my son. It became our story of hope in the afterlife. He was still with us. My son carried that on for me to ease my sorrow. He drew this for me. And said Uncle Tom. When my son died a few days passed and I was at his house visiting my granddaughter. She came in the room and handed me a red cardinal. I looked at it and it was from my Christmas tree from my last Christmas with him. I said where did you get this she said I dont know grandma but she just put it in my hand. She was 3 5. Thank you my son for my sign. That day.

Drawing by Billy Dehmer

Some people you can know for a lifetime and when the darkness arrives the colors around them disappear. Then there are those that suddenly appear. As if an angel has come down and put that light in your path so you can hold on to it. I have come to learn this with a beautiful person I have never met. She has saved me on this journey. Billy met someone out of nowhere and in that moment that they met he never knew he would be standing beside me one day making sure his mom is ok. I looked at him and knew he has known sadness. He showed up and walked against the wind and rain along side of me. He said I’ll stay as long as you need me. Thank you Billy ❤

Article from physchology Today

Photo by Billy Dehmer, my son

The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him… a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create—so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating.

(By Merritt Malloy)

Photo by Billy

When I die give what’s left of me away
to children and old men that wait to die.
And if you need to cry,
cry for your brother walking the street beside you.
And when you need me, put your arms around anyone
and give them what you need to give me.
I want to leave you something,
something better than words or sounds.
Look for me in the people I’ve known or loved,
and if you cannot give me away,
at least let me live in your eyes and not in your mind.
You can love me best by letting hands touch hands,
and by letting go of children that need to be free.
Love doesn’t die, people do.
So, when all that’s left of me is love,
give me away.

Beautiful words. I hope they bring comfort to you.

Written by Michelle Homme, author, inspirational speaker

Photo by Billy, my son

We all know what it looks like when people are passionate about something. It could be ice cream or fashion or whales, the “what” doesn’t matter — the passion behind it does. The energy found in a passionate person and the way they impact the world leaves us all changed, sometimes in ways we don’t even realize at the time. It sits as a temporary moment and in a flash, it is gone. Later, we remember that moment and the feeling it stirred within us. We recall the way the person’s eyes lit up whenever they were vulnerable and honest with their passion and were willing to share it with us. We felt their excitement. We were drawn into their being. We tasted their power and allowed it to fill our hearts and souls.

Sometimes, without appreciating it at the time, our reality is changed… just because of their passions and how it impacts all of us.

My son gave everything he did 300 percent. These people are rare in life.

When I got divorced Billy was 11. I never knew what an impact it had on his heart. I have had the past 3 years thinking about it all. Reliving every moment of my life with him. He loved family. He kept connected to the places he went to as a child. One of these places was the Vanderbuilt museum in Centerport . I recently had a brick installed where he took this photo. It was my way of making sure he always stays apart of them so one day his daughter can visit and feel connected to him. There is also a brick at the planting fields on Long island.

My son started getting into his drawing around 2015. I really believe he did this to find balance within himself . He often felt lonely inside. He was so talented but as most things he did he felt he wasnt good enough. I wish he followed this dream. God gives you such a gift you go after it. Keep getting better and never give up. I will always believe this was the dream he should have followed. Thank God we have his drawings. He started an Instagram page and acquired 4500 followers. Connecting various artists. Sharing their work. Friends he made

continued that page and accumulated 15,000 followers.

Written from A Bed for your Heart

“The best way I can describe grieving over a child as the years go by is to say it’s similar to carrying a stone in your pocket.

When you walk, the stone brushes against your skin. You feel it. You always feel it. But depending on the way you stand or the way your body moves, the smooth edges might barely graze your body.

Sometimes you lean the wrong way or you turn too quickly and a sharp edge pokes you. Your eyes water and you rub your wound but you have to keep going because not everyone knows about your stone or if they do, they don’t realize it can still bring this much pain.

There are days you are simply happy now, smiling comes easy and you laugh without thinking. You slap your leg during that laughter and you feel your stone and aren’t sure whether you should be laughing still. The stone still hurts.

Once in a while you can’t take your hand off that stone. You run it over your fingers and roll it in your palm and are so preoccupied by it’s weight, you forget things like your car keys and home address. You try to leave it alone but you just can’t. You want to take a nap but it’s been so many years since you’ve called in “sad” you’re not sure anyone would understand anymore or if they ever did.

But most days you can take your hand in and out of your pocket, feel your stone and even smile at its unwavering presence. You’ve accepted this stone as your own, crossing your hands over it, saying “mine” as children do.

You rest more peacefully than you once did, you’ve learned to move forward the best you can. Some days you want to show the world what a beautiful memory you’re holding. But most days you twirl it through your fingers, smile and look to the sky. You squeeze your hands together and hope you are living in a way that honors the missing piece you carry, until your arms are full again.” © Jessica Watson

Gorgeous piece written by Four Plus an Angel by Je

ssica Watson.