This is a repost: Something wonderful happened today: another blogger get-together, a sort of Deaniacs United. . . Thankful, Phil, and Donna had lunch in Iowa, then cleaned up a tornado damaged site in Dean teeshirts, Donna and Thankful met the blog baby cows, and got bit on da bum, and then met Phil's Dad, and were introduced as "those women from the internet" he knows. . . This post, about "more than a family" seemed especially appropriate for today, and Phil's poem, for an anniversary tomorrow. All love to all of you.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Friday, September 23, 2005

I wanted to leave something pretty big to hold this blog for a couple of days until I can get back to a computer, and was thumbing through my poetry file. Found this.

Yes. Tears are running down my face just now, not only for kimmy and Uncle Beatle, not only for Phil, and his family, but for all of us on that blog, who became so much a family. Or more than a family. I've seen a definition of family: family is the place where people have to love you. So more than a family? Where people love you even though they don't have to.



Kimmy
The first line is for Uncle Beatle (and my son); take time for yourself and take care....love


Broken Oak, Broken Birch
The first day my eyes didn't see black
I saw Rachael chewing your boot,
and when she looked behind me for you and wimpered
I did too.
The boot hung for 12 months
on that post by the barn.
Sweet Rachael died on the road
crossing to look for you.
We threw out the tickle chair
(no one else called it that)
Mom bought the recliner for Father's Day
for you boys
and when you piled on the tickle fight I was having
with your brother
we broke the oak frame
holding it together
togther
we broke the oak
And that broken down chair
sat by the house
too painful to move
your gravestone that
broke oak

I moved your boot not long ago
about a month after I handed you to Jesus
(Sorry it took so long)
Your voice no longer answers messages.
The chair is in the dumpster today.
Your ashes are in 18 states, a mighty river,
and the Ocean.
The pillow that saved your life in Phoenix
went with us on that family pilgrimage in your car.
And lay on the gravestone of our favorite childhood
author, and went to the peak of the Green Mountains.
Your Mother brought back moss
from that upthrusting granite where we left your ashes
(you can see fifty miles)
There is a Birch above
with the same branch broken as the one
by your memory garden
broken birch
broken oak

Posted by Phil from Iowa at August 6, 2004 08:38 PM

Thanks, Phil ♥

posted by puddle at 9/23/2005 12:27:00 AM 3 comments