Archive for the moms Category

Love Letter

Posted in death, gratuities, life, moms on April 12, 2014 by clancyjane

Dears,

(In loss, I have never felt so loved.)

 

We were raised by our Mothers, and they by theirs, to be good people who are good to people.

We were raised with others like us, those we’ve known for as long as we’ve breathed, and others we left Putnam County to find.

 

When I read what you’ve written to me, and not only to me but to others, I remember when Mom said there was no one more lucky than we are lucky- to have each other, and each of our others.

 

You are so present.

So true.

So loving.

You are at once so grounded and unafraid of flight.

 

There is no one more lucky than me, to have who I came with and who I collected, and to see you daily through the interconnect.

I love you and I love how you love me and I love how you love each other.

If we looked in on love like this, at like-minded like-hearted neighbors, we would ask each other

how could they exist?

How could they be so authentic and kind.

 

And how could they be us.

 

 

 

 

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Practicing: a years old repost for T, ‘coz I got nothin’ else

Posted in evil inherent in nature, life, moms on November 15, 2010 by clancyjane

I am underwater and her words reach me in waves:

Doctor unavailable.  Appointment rescheduled.  Circumstances beyond our control.

I remember drills designed to give my muscles memory

about when to look left and turn right and fake a defender

away from my jumpshot

repeating those same sets of movements

again and again until on game day

the feel of a forward’s breath over my left shoulder

told my arms and hips and head all they needed to know

to do what’s next.

I remembered those drills this morning

in the days before Dr. Dawn

with the phone in my hand and the out-of-town DoctorOfficeLady

telling me why my Mom has to wait again.

I force myself to listen to her vapid explanation as I watch my Mom

lower her head as

she labors to lift her hand

and I practice asking nicely

for reconsideration while other words with

Ms and Fs and the hardest K sounds catch silently in my throat

along with the sentences

I know where you are

and I’ll be coming around to show you

how a daughter feels

when her Mom is in pain

and the doctor unavailable again

and her appointment rescheduled again

and I’m really very sorry for the beating but, honest,

it’s beyond my control.


miriam
 

Well said. Enough to make a mother awfully proud. 

Posted by miriam on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 3:12 PM
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Sheila
 

This is really powerful, Rosy. 

I like your use of DoctorOfficeLady.  The title that confers power over so many.

Posted by Sheila on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 3:31 PM
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Amy Cunningham
 

i have a feeling you were a kick ass basketball player too 

Posted by Amy Cunningham on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 3:45 PM
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miriam
 

yes, she was
is 

Posted by miriam on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 11:57 PM
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Ruby
 

Power and powerlessness at the same time.  Vapid explanations while mom struggles, trying to be nice while the feelings strangle you.  I’ve dealt with an aging mother (now deceased)  and the medical/home care establishments, thanks for putting into words how it feels. 

Posted by Ruby on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 4:01 PM
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Cranky Ricky
 

but then again, simple is soo boring. 

fyjfy — gove us some BORING!

Posted by Cranky Ricky on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 4:55 PM
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c
 

i checked the blog page and there was Practicing,
like a present.
Pleasant surprise! 

i like the description of sounds.
i saw the baby in the womb making ready.  Or maybe i am way off.
Either way, it’s difficult desiring to help, to change things, but feeling powerless to do so.

Posted by c on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 5:20 PM
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jonnypravda
 

This is a multi-layered piece of work–there’s humor in the line about “Ms and Fs and Cs and Ss and hard K sounds” getting caught in your throat (and not just because do we know of a soft K sound?), but there’s also poignancy in your mother struggling to lift her hand, and no doctor available.  My mother had three months of quadriplegia following a bad operation, so I know the frustration of not being able to help the one who gave you life.  I keep going back and re-reading this, and it keeps getting better. 

Posted by jonnypravda on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 7:29 PM
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Big Bill
 

Damn, Rosy, you jammed on her. 

Thanks,
Bill

Posted by Big Bill on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 7:33 PM
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Neil
 

on target 

Posted by Neil on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 8:10 PM
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Progressivo
 

There is something jarring about being first immersed in water,
then lifting one’s head above it; only to be jerked back in–no matter
how familiar one is with negotiating rough waters.
Word-waves are powerful things. Yours are proof! 

Posted by Progressivo on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 9:49 PM
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rrrwomyn
 

i love how you put this together, it’s hard to parent your parent, but i’m sure you do it with as much heart as you write with 

Posted by rrrwomyn on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 10:50 PM
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Michelle
 

This could almost read as a diary entry.  It reminds me a little of Sylvia Plath. The strong harsh words work well in this composition. Interesting juxtaposition of past, and present subject matter. 

Posted by Michelle on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 11:07 PM
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Michelle
 

I forgot to add, I really like this sentence… 

I am under water and her words reach me in waves
A good opening line.

Posted by Michelle on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 11:11 PM
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The Back Porch Philosopher
 

i say grab a baseball bat and go for it! 

this is really well written and i am so sorry it had to be.

Posted by The Back Porch Philosopher on Thursday, February 01, 2007 at 9:28 AM
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Philip
 

This is a great representation of this very familiar experience. The description of the sounds rising in your throat is spot on. 

Posted by Philip on Friday, February 02, 2007 at 10:19 AM
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You dont know Jack
 

The ending kicks ass…and you
probably speak for many.  This
reminds me of some of my own
experiences several years ago.
 

Posted by You dont know Jack on Sunday, February 04, 2007 at 2:23 AM
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Mojoman
 

It is hard to see those who are our whole life reduced to tasks and time slots. 

Posted by Mojoman on Monday, February 05, 2007 at 5:47 PM
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Slade
 

My Dear Rosy….your writing has been sorely missed and I was glad to find this piece waiting here. I am in complete agreement with your expression of struggle. I hope to find more of your work soon. As Always…..Most Excellent! 

Posted by Slade on Thursday, February 08, 2007 at 7:13 AM
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A Sister Writes It Sad

Posted in death, life, moms, poetry with tags , , on May 6, 2009 by clancyjane

http://lovelyasatree.wordpress.com/

Frankie: Gone Fishin’

Posted in death, evil inherent in nature, gratuities, life, moms with tags on March 6, 2009 by clancyjane

 

dad-graduation-revised

Frankie, 80, of Redacted, MO died early Saturday morning, February 21st, 2009, in the company of his daughters, Mary Frank and Clancy Jane, shortly after telling Jane he wanted to gather some night crawlers and take her fishing.  

He was born July 25, 1928 the only son of George Albert and Myrtle Alice (Redacted) Redacted, who preceded him in death. On January 3, 1955, he married Our Good Lady in Redacted, MO, and he grieved her death, which occurred July 30, 2008, until his own.  To the union of Frankie and Our Good Lady, six children were born, and they are as follows:  Cathy, Ida Allis, Tommy, Mary Frank, Clancy Jane, and George.

Frankie engaged in a variety of jobs and businesses throughout his life. In his early years, he and his family were an important part of Redacted trading, via Redacted and Son Grocery and Hardware. In addition to this he built ammunition boxes, county bridges, and strong children.

Frankie spent most of his life in Redacted and Redacted. He lived his last months at the LaPlata Nursing Home, where he was cared for compassionately by the staff and longtime family friends Amy Byrn, Joan Chegwidden and Mizty Crowdis.
Frankie was proud to serve his country in the Korean War as a Forward Observer and part of the 7th Infantry Division, among others. When his services ended he wrote his mother a four page letter, one word to a page, which read: I AM COMING HOME.
Visitation was held on Tuesday, February 24, 2009 with funeral service following at Redacted Family Funeral Home. Internment with a military service was held at the Redacted Cemetery.

Frankie’s children were his pallbearers, and honorary pallbearers were: Junior Redacted, Larry Redacted, Redacted Coddington, Butch Redacted, John Redacted, Nate Redacted, Bub Michael and Redacted Brown.

Frankie Takes Stock After Deaths and Amputations

Posted in dads, death, evil inherent in nature, life, moms with tags , , on December 17, 2008 by clancyjane

Fold

He checks for the presence of limbs and loved ones as if patting pockets for keys and coins.

He sits by his scanner awaiting the 20 on his missing wife and shoe.

I Do Not Care About The Quarter

Posted in coffee, moms on July 20, 2008 by clancyjane

Dawn Anne  calls and says

The tests are back,

This isn’t good.

I give Mom the news.

We go for coffee.

The coffee comes, she shrugs and says

I’m sorry kid,

Looks like I made you waste a quarter.

I do not care about the quarter.

We take the coffees to go and drive uptown.

I refill her morphine and buy her some smokes.

We wind down 22nd and she lights up for the first time since March.

We park by Fairley’s pond and watch their swans herd a group of geese toward the bank.

Smoke from her Pall Mall wends and dissipates.

She wonders where she’ll be when next year’s callas come up.

“Right here”, I gesture, and shut my eyes tight to the image of

An empty Adirondack chair,

A garden filled with love-lies-bleeding.