I Want to Believe

I want to believe that you are here
That you see I am missing you
And seeing me go back and read the wonderful things you wrote

I want to believe you are better off
Not in this world but somewhere
Where you are happy and loved and no longer in pain

I want to believe that you hear me
When I whisper to you at night
Remembering all the times we talked until the sun rose

I want to believe I will see you
In another place together again
Laughing, loving and just being — the way that sisters do



We had tiny hands
And little feet
And dreams that dwarfed us both

We hugged. We laughed. We held hands.
Walking from dawn to dusk
Friends forever we said

Forever doesn’t last
When you are no longer
Small with tiny hands and little feet

Too many grown-ups
Rush against the end
Of something, somewhere

There is no time to laugh
And giggle
And believe in forever

Not now. Grow up.
Get a job.
Quit acting like a kid.


Post Holiday

Today I am so thankful we did not cook a huge feast at our house yesterday. I am glad our refrigerator is not filled with so much unhealthy food.

It was 37 degrees here when we took our morning walk today. Brrrr! It was brisk!

Time to go scout for a Christmas tree!



The words you speak kiss me with promises
of time filled with love
and moments
precious and fleeting

Your eyes speak a language of understanding
of times behind us
and memories
yet to be made

Your heart urges mine into the same rhythm
of life and living
and anticipation
of what remains

It’s simple with you and me.

Because of where we have been

We understand where we are going

And cherish the road that takes us there



Music of My Life

Tonight this song came to my mind. It is one of the many Cat Stevens songs that I loved at a particular point in my life. When he stopped recording I was saddened, but his music from this time will forever live as a very important part of my life.

Yusuf Islam has been a great humanitarian on the world stage. I have not followed any of his more recent music but will make a note to do so. But not tonight.

Tonight I remember. A different time. A different place. A different me.




When it rains, I think of you.

A little girl in blue jeans and her hair in French braids.

We always heard the story of you standing at the window watching the rain fall. Your cheek and your hand pressed against the window pane.

“Pou’in’ down rain.”

I miss you, Sis. I have my memories, but it doesn’t take the place of having you.