A Majestic Sentry

A MAJESTIC SENTRY

Feeling my mist-dampened face in the early morning hours,
I first wondered if I had wept throughout the night
As my heart broke into uncountable tiny pieces
Grieving over the death of my dear beloved Mother.

But searching the stones for any familiar name
Led me to the angel overlooking her spacious garden
And I felt her touching the spirit of each who slept
In the sloping graveyard sheltered by God’s church.

Each stone carried the briefest history of each occupant,
With dates of birth and death signaling the Alpha and Omega.
But what about the ones she loved and who loved her in return,
And the moments when smiles brightened the sunlit afternoon.

It was the memories of her life I carried within my soul,
Bringing comfort as they floated around me, gentle as the clouds;
But sometimes a memory would painfully squeeze my heart
Until I stumbled, alone and lost, in the grief of the dying.

Feeling the wetness on my face in the early morning hours,
I thought if I had truly wept throughout the night,
Then the angel had used each tear to wash away the grief
As she stood, a majestic sentry guarding this hallowed ground.



A MAJESTIC SENTRY©
Joyce E. Winslow
November 26, 2007

Good Night, Mom

Good night, Mom.

I love you.

Surely The Roller Coaster Ride Ends

To my friends who have suggested I write more, thank you.

As you know, I have been in a "funk" for a while now. If anything, it seems as though the emotional roller coaster gets higher, faster and more daring as the "known alleviating aids" lay helplessly along side the ride's track. There seems to be no place left in my life in which tears have not taken up residence. Not only have the tears moved in but they independently choose their own time.

So, in an attempt to re-focus, I have been playing around with this blog since about midnight. I must admit - having something to do seems to help. And in "doing this," I realize in the darkness of the night, the sun is shining somewhere in this world at this moment. And that is what I hold on to for this moment.

An Angel's Whisper

AN ANGEL'S WHISPER

Hearing the chimes outside your window,
Can the whisper be your voice?
Do I stay awake night after night waiting for you?
Do I push sleep aside so I will hear you calling?
Watching, waiting, listening – night after night,
Will I know, will I see, will I hear you?
Upon asking this, at that exact moment,
The chimes outside your window softly answered
And I knew I had heard your presence.
Sleep will come gently now for you are here.




AN ANGEL’S WHISPER©
Joyce E. Winslow
September 5, 2007

Threads of Love, A Journey Through Alzheimer's

Winnie Elizabeth Jones Winslow
April 10, 1923 – August 10, 2007


THREADS OF LOVE
A Journey Through Alzheimer’s

Under the cover of darkness, you were an unwelcome visitor,
And like a thief in the night, you stole a name, a place, a voice, a look, a word.
In your wake, you left vacant stares, tearful eyes unable to focus on a thought.
You came to destroy on an unseen battlefield and we had no swords to fight you.

As you marched through the middle of her life, emboldened with each new step,
You ravaged her memories of a long ago childhood and left her filled with fear.
Only after you staked claim to her body did you extinguish the light behind her smile,
And she was left in obscurity to face shadows with names she no longer knew.

Reaching out to her mother, her brother, my father – all those who had long ago died,
Mother wept because they became strangers and she thought their love for her had ceased.
Unable to reason or understand, she withdrew even more into her shadowy world,
Where she sought that one familiar voice, that one familiar face to bring her comfort.

Standing alone on the empty stage, her silent tears fell on the dusty floor of make believe
As the endless, unknown journey continued to strip away the decades of her life.
Yet, even as the battle raged, Mother saw an angel come before her in the dimness of her room
And we knew, joined together by these threads of love, I would stay and she was going Home.


THREADS OF LOVE©
Joyce E. Winslow
July 7, 2007