Kindness

Kindness

Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

My Dream

It’s been 2 years since my son has visited me in my dreams and that dream was while I am on vacation too. This morning I woke up crying in my sleep. It was so real. My son and I were sitting on a bench. He handed me a gift bag. In the bag was a candle holder that was ivory with. Slots that were all filled with photos of my son. In side the holder was a candle. There was one photo that was the biggest and it was of us. On the candle it said live love laugh. I hugged my son and we both were crying so hard hugging each other. I said I miss you so much and I woke myself up crying. It was so real it took my breathe away. Thank you Billy because worldwide candle lighting for loss of child was that day. There are no coincidences

Purpose

It’s so easy to get caught up in our story and our own pain. I try to remember the purpose. God has chosen me to suffer a great loss. I read something once and as hard as it is for me to accept I believe it is true. He has put us all on earth as his choice. He gave me my children as a gift . I must never lose sight of that. I must find purpose in my loss. To help others and to see human suffering in a sharper light. I have become a better person. I stop and takenotice of other peoples losses. I help more now. I am thankful for all he has given me . To have such a beautiful relationship with my son. I am so blessed to have known such love.

A gift from you

Since my granddaughter was 2 every time I would come over to see her on Friday nights we would jump up and down and do ballerina twirls. She would get so excited for my visits. She is now 7. So much had changed for both of us. Her Dad is gone 3.5 years now. She has since moved to a new town, a new house and has a new family.She was 3.5 when my son died and as time gets further away those memories become a blurr for her. But every once in a while she remembers certain things. We still twirl when I see her. And she has this smile on her face that launches me back in time to when life was so happy. We will always keep that connection and love will be forever.

Imagination

When we are young we look at a tree and think of all of the possibilities. To climb to the top, to build a secret fort and to hide behind. As we get older that tree turns into something that just drops leaves and causes work for us. My son always kept that magic in his heart. He brought that light to his daughter. He brought that light in his gifts. His drawings and the way he loved the things we take for granted. He kept his youth in his heart. Maybe Peter Pan had it right.

The cardinal

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.

A true friend

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 ❤

The creative mind

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.