Dear Mother

This world at time feels like it has me pinned to the ground mother. I remember when you were still here I would always run to you for comfort. Now that you are gone your memories are the only thing I have to hold on to. They just don't seem to give me the comfort of sitting down and actually chatting with you. Our bond was a strong one. It was hard to watch you slowly die after your stroke. You weren't the same person anymore. I had to watch you die several years before you actually did. It became hard to visit that nursing home. It broke me inside more then you'll ever know. The person I came to visit just wasn't my mother anymore. The balance of nature and time was taking whom you were and replacing it with a broken down shell of a person that once was. Your spirit was still there though. I built a wall around that pain and tried to hide it from the world. Having me at the age of forty-four it feels like I always was scared you would be gone in a blink of an eye. You chained smoked like a chimney and ate the unhealthiest food known to man. You would never sit down and always felt like there was another task you had to complete. Rest was something you didn't know much about. I don't think your death has fully hit me yet. I remember when I was driving back to Michigan to attend your funeral, planning my brief stay there I was trying to work some time into visiting you. Then it hit me. You were gone. There were no more visits. Our time together was over on this world.

This world isn't the same without a rarity of a person like you mother. If most people had gauged you from your outside you would have looked nothing more then an uneducated hillbilly. You didn't understand much of the modern world you left but what you did understand was much more important. You were knowledgeable of love and God. You knew the Bible inside out. You spoke the world of God without fear and showed the love of Jesus. You gave your time and sacrificed for others. You prayed for the weak and fed the hungry. You never wanting anything of value and if you did receive something you wouldn't hesitate to give it to another. What a blessing you were to this world. How blessed I was to have someone like you to call my mother.

I regret what a child I was to you at times. You spoiled the hell out of me and gave me anything I wanted. Sometimes it took a fit to get it but you would eventually give in. I'm sorry. I know you blamed yourself for spoiling me but having me in a later age and having a son of my own, I understand why you did. It was hard being a teenager around you. I had so many questions and so much rage with no answers. The only answer you gave me to fix anything was to give it to God. I hated that answer. To me it never solved anything or made anything better. I didn't start understanding your answer until my later twenties. All those seeds you planted in me when I was younger finally started sprouting. I matured with your teachings and love. You taught me when you love you break no commandment. You taught me to be strong and proud of who I am. I learn from you not to hate anybody especially for his or her color, social status or ideas. You taught me to embrace my emotions rather then to hide them away. With your words I found the meaning of forgiveness. I found that peace you had with the word of God. When you died you didn't leave me money or high priced materials things. What you left me was worth much more then this world has to offer. You left me your spirit. That strong spirit you built up over your years. Those seeds have now grown into a vigorous tree that cannot be uprooted. It is not done growing though. Each day I get stronger knowing I inherited that fire you had inside. Again I thank you Mother, for everything you've given me. I couldn't have asked for more.

One of my favorite stories you use to tell me was the time we were walking down this beaten dirt path in Florida. You said I was around the age of three and I looked up at you and said, "Mom my love for you is like the universe, it never stops growing." You were amazed by this because you said you didn't even know I knew what a universe was. Now having your grandchild I see that amazement you saw in me. Having Aiden I now understand the love of a parent. That special love you had for me. How you would sacrifice anything to make sure my needs were met. Watching Aiden is like looking through your eyes at me when I was a child. How blessed I am to experience that. My love for him was tested when God made me choose between him and you. God finally opened that door for me to be with my son again four hundred miles away. That meant leaving you in your broken down condition. I chose him. The reason being is because I know you would have done the same things for me. I was down here in Missouri four months when you passed away. I remember leaving you the last day I saw you. I tried to make saying goodbye movie like. I tried to put together the perfect words because I knew this may be the last time I saw you and it was. The only thing I could say was "I love you." Those were the last words I said to you. I would have liked that day to have been a little more special but I think what I said pretty much summed up you and me. Love. 

Now I write this letter seven months after your death. I feel like this new state I live in has changed me and I've forgotten who I use to be. Sometimes I have to pull up memories of you and me to remember my past self. I know sometimes the world will beat me down and there will be days where it feels like no hope is left. I want you to know that is your memories and teaching that keep me fighting this bitter world. Because of you and your love I will not be defeated by it. Your death hasn't caused me sadness; just missing you has made me shed these tears. I know you’re where you were meant to be. Heaven was made for somebody like you. I know one day I will see you again. I do not fear death because I do not question what comes after it. Until then Mother I will continue to spread your message. That message is the one of love, peace, and the word of God. Through me your spirit will be carried on. I love you mother. I love you like the universe, it never stops growing. Now that we are a universe apart, I feel you closer then ever. This world just isn't the same without somebody like you.

A Letter Written to My Wife

At times it feels as if my soul changes suddenly from summer to winter and my colors of autumn have been pushed away. The touch of the cold earth freezes all hope. My happiness falls to the ground like the leaves off the shedding trees. Though depression can take part of me, it will never take all of me because I always know you are my spring. You revive my soul and make my heart new with your love and perfectly placed kisses. And even though my words will never give the poetic justice that your beauty, heart and soul deserves, I feel that is my job to try to paint that masterpiece. You are more than just one person among the millions, you are what those millions strive or pretend to be. You inspire me to be greater than my goals. You are everything that is right with the world, an homage to love. My love for you can only be fathomed by the mind of God. With you I am everything and without you I am nothing.

January 14th Thoughts

So I'm at work trying to get everything ready to be blogging again. I had to delete my last blogs because of reason I really don't want to get into. So I'm starting fresh. I gotta get some of my old blogs and repost them here. Some of my favorite writings that is. I'll see what I can get done today. I just need to start writing and get in the habit of writing. I want it to become second nature to me. This is the reason for the blog. I have this novel in my head. Day by day I learn more of the story like it's being read to me over time. In my opinion it's brilliant. I'm hoping this blog will inspire me to finally piece it together and write it. Anyways I have to get some work done. Going to write more later and post this at the end of the day. Throwing on headphones and focusing.
Ok got a couple things done and it's almost three o clock. Got more done then I thought I would today with my ADD having ass. I'm serious I cannot focus worth a shit sometimes. I get sidetracked by the littlest thoughts. Just now I got a work email and lost all control over my mind. I was sidetracked twice by my phone and the internet. I get things done though in my own way.

The work day is almost over, about thirty minutes away. Usually this time of day my creativity juices are spent. Work is getting busy again, which is good because I hate sitting her prettying to do something. I think trying to look busy is harder then actually doing my job. I wish I would have started Blogger during those slow times.

Google is impressing me with it's Google + I really paid no attention to it but I'm reading post about it today and finding that I like it better then Twitter. I'm sorry it can't replace my Facebook at this point.

Burying The Past

Robert stood on the edge of his backyard with his concentration set on a freshly dug hole. The sweat he received from using the shovel was stinging his eyes. It didn't stop him from seeing what a unique evening it was. The night was lonely and quiet. The forest behind his house slowly took his attention away. Darkness was taking away the visibility of the trees. The sky hadn’t turned completely black yet. A dark navy blue was painted in the heavens. The orchestra of nature was on point tonight. It sounded perfect as if they have been rehearsing for months. A soft glow made from the house lights set up many shadows. The mixture of darkness and light calmed him. This kind of peace was something he wasn't use to.

The sudden fire that came from his lighter while lighting a cigarette blinded him. While inhaling his first toke he tried to get back his night vision. The huge field that divided him and the forest sit in its usual motion from the wind. The tall weeds and grass moved with the breath of God. This backyard and field was always his sanctuary. If life had any burden for him, this is where his therapy was. It wasn't the field or the environment that resurrected his spirit, it was the holes he dug into the ground. Robert could never figure out what about digging a hole took his troubles away. He loved the feel of the first push of the head of the shovel into the ground. Robert longed for the blisters he received from digging. The smell of fresh dirt excited him like nothing else. He remembered writing about his obsession in grade school and the consciences of telling his addiction. After that he was the focus of many childish terrorism acts. They mocked him for his weird hobby. Why couldn't they just understand or see what he saw? This led him to dig more holes.


The memory of him digging his first hole came to him. He was the age of twelve. It was a night that he wished wasn't burned inside his head. That night Robert felt the tension rising in the air. It made his stomach hurt. He had been through this many times and his instinct lead him to run to his bedroom. His drunken father was spitting out racial slurs and blaming the government for his poverty. Hearing the nervousness in his mothers voice he knew what was coming. His father started bitching about how little they had to eat. His anger was being poured out unto his mother.

"I thought we had some goddamn real food in this house," his father yelled.

Robert heard his father stand up and start to throw things while continuing his tantrum. He wanted to run into the kitchen and protect his mother because he knew what was coming next. Fear struck his heart and stopped him as usual. He felt powerless. Crawling under his bed and holding his ears with his hands he could still hear his mother's screams while getting beat viciously. Her begging and pleading went without mercy. Then her screaming and crying stopped completely. Robert took his hands away from his head and felt a numbing feeling come over his body. There wasn't his mother's usual crying and panting after getting beat. There was just silence. Creeping his way from his bedroom to the kitchen he saw his mother laying on the floor. No movement or life in her. There was just a small pool of blood spreading under her head. His father stood there with a rolling pin in hand and then looked up at him. The only words that came from his mouth were, "Go get the shovel boy."

His mother's grave was the first hole he dug. His father made him dig it. The whole time Robert was digging his father never felt remorse. He just called his dead mother names and how terrible of a wife she was. His father also mentioned if he ever told anybody he would be buried next to her. The fear of this did keep him from telling a single soul. It was that night Robert started hating the world. He hated how unjust it was. No one came looking for his mother after that. His father hid her away in his hell and she became obsolete to the world. After her death the world kept moving at it's general beat. Nothing was different to society but to him his small hands were burying the only love he ever knew.

After that night to escape the torture of now being his father’s punching bag, he would find himself digging holes in the backyard. Robert dug holes for years around his house and near the forest. In the beginning he never covered them up. He just left there until one night his father fell in one while stumbling around drunk in the back yard. His orders were to never dig again. Why did this man always try to take everything he had? Was he so miserable that he hated to see joy that other people had. It was bad enough he took his mother but now taking something as simple as digging a hole. The fear of his father didn't stop his addiction though. He found ways of hiding them and the drunkenness of his father didn't give him a keen since of his surroundings. One time his father did catch him. It was one of the worst beating he received. For almost a week Robert knew what it was like to be handicapped. When lying in bed he stared out his window at the backyard wishing he had the strength to at least dig one hole.

Now at the age of nineteen Robert stood in his backyard. Tonight was different. He had a feeling of justice in his heart. There was a strong feeling that the world would be lifted off his shoulders. Sometimes when a person has nothing left all their emotions are gone as well. Feelings like fear, love, hate, all of them just leave with their sanity. They become numb to all the pain and memories. Sometimes choices need to be made to secure the balance of the world. Some of these choices don't make sense and are not always pretty. His father could have chosen to be a good man instead of the demon he was. He had the choice to show him love and affection but instead he raised him with fear. Instead of blaming everyone and everything for his problems, he could have accepted them and made better of himself. No matter how cruel Robert's life was he would never turn into the his father.

Lighting another cigarette Robert looked down at this hole he had just dug. It was probably his prize one. It was a flawless rectangle. The sides were smooth and its depth was almost as tall as him. This was his masterpiece. He decided this would be his final hole. When his father got home from the bar Robert wanted him to see it. He wanted his father to finally see at least one accomplished of perfection he had done.

When he did get home he shuffled out the back door yelling for Robert. When he saw him standing next to his the hole anger fell over him.


"What in the hell did I tell you about digging those holes," came out of his father's mouth.


Robert replied with no fear in his voice, "No, you should really see this one. You have to see what’s in it."


His dad made his way over to the hole mixed with curiosity and violence on his mind. Looking down the hole he said with a questioned look on his face, "There's nothing..........."


The sound of a shovel hitting the back of his father's skull replaced the words he was about to say. The sound was repeated over and over. Robert thought how similar the sound was when his mother was being beat over her head by this very man. He forced himself to stop for a moment. His father was barely breathing but he could still hear him whispering for mercy. Raising the shovel in the air he felt like he had one final blow to go. Then he couldn't do it. He didn't want to be the one to kill him. Robert drug his father and rolled him down into the hole. He watched his father's body fall to the bottom. He felt that he shouldn't be the one to kill his father. Instead the dirt he shoveled for year trying to escape the horror that he put him through should be the one to take his final breath. Robert picked up the shovel and slowly started to cover his last hole. He didn't stop to think or look back. He just started singing a lullaby his mother use to sing him asleep to.

That Moment

I'm looking so hard for that split second that changes everything. That one moment of satisfaction that rebirths my soul. The more out of date I get it feels that the present day is replicated from the day before. The flavor of youth just doesn't taste as sweet as it use to. I will not be one of those that waste there days searching for a cure for death. Because death is that final exam that few of us are ready for. No one has ever failed it and only one has cheated it. Then again he was the one that wrote it. I just want to look back when I graduate life and say I made some sort of mark on the world, even if it's just a scratch. I want a legacy not of fame but of true wisdom. So I keep searching, gaining more wisdom with each sunset and flipping that coin of fate. I know this day is there because if it wasn't I couldn't hear it calling so clearly.