All I Have Are Words

I sense the emptiness you feel 

the pain that you don’t talk about

impending loss you won’t reveal.

I feel these on another plane

where such thoughts are spoken freely.

Would that I could lift your heart

raze the darkness that you carry,

yet I don’t know where to start.

Would that you might trust a friend

who wonders at this path you travel

and listens as your dreams unravel

yet doesn’t know where to begin.

On this map we’re left to follow

not every road comes to an end

sometimes we can’t see ‘round the curve

to where the path starts up again.

Many have gone on ahead

and for a while some stay behind—

and through the seeds your words have sown

just know that you are not alone.

 

© GB 2022

For a friend whom I see struggling.  Wishing you light and love on this road you travel.

 

Bearing Witness...

Even as you walked your path, 

between this world and the next

you still thought of others.

You gave us an incredible gift, 

bearing the choice 

so we wouldn’t have to.

You, you were always our gift…

and so we send you home to wait for us

and carry you now and always in our hearts.

© Ginny Brannan 2021

One Day at a Time...

I sit in a vacuum unable to breathe

unable to hold you, to be at your side

not even a glimmer of what lies ahead

I cannot find solace, I can’t find reprieve

while waiting to see just what fate will decide.

 

I can’t seem to get all these thoughts to subside—

you’re not here to hold me, to say “It’s okay.”

They race like a freight train to some unknown stop;

I’ve chosen these strangers with which to confide,

as I struggle to keep all the demons at bay.

 

The world’s upside down, in complete disarray

holding tight to each message, each small ray of hope

white-knuckled, not knowing what will come next.

There’s too many outside forces at play,

I’m treading water,  yet barely afloat.

 

Where will we land? No one can say…

just trying to hold onto one. more. day.

Image by Charlie Parant at Appetite For Photos. Used only with express written permission.

 

Limbo

I’ve forgotten what it’s like

to feel the sun upon my face

to smell the earth after a storm

to hear the crickets singing 

underneath a crescent moon…

I’ve forgotten what it is to eat

a meal in my own home,

to not be always on the run

to not feel so alone.

Be careful what you wish for

or it may come to be…

I never, ever wished for this,

it’s nothing I'd conceive.

Time grows ever shorter

in our road from here to there,

it’s hard to reconstruct our lives

when this world’s in disrepair.

We wallow in some limbo

and have more than paid our dues

this never-ending road we’re on

is tiring, in truth.

Don’t know where we’re going to land

—or if we’ll land alone,

so I hold you in this moment

and pray you'll soon be home.

© Ginny Brannan 2019

On Hiatus

I cannot share in your debates

the never-ending brouhaha;

combating anger and such hate

just leaves me feeling frayed and fraught.

It’s not that I have blinders on

am ignorant, without a clue,

the lies keep changing every day

out on display for our review.

My focus has turned singular

as if,  perhaps, by will alone—

I could fend away the fear

against this dark and great unknown.

So should you wonder where I am?

I’m right here where I need to be

battling unbending foe

never ceding to defeat.

And when this campaign’s finally done,

when I’ve done all I can do,

and when I’m sure that we have won

that’s when I’ll return to you.

© Ginny Brannan 2019

Awake at 4 a.m.

I wake up at 4 a.m., no hope of falling back asleep

and the film in my head is already

running the odds and worse case scenarios.

Just can’t get away from them.

And I pray for the surgeon's steady hand,

 and I pray you’ll be whole again—
Does God even hear the prayers of fools and sinners?

So many dreams and hopes

colliding with so many unknowns...

I know you’re strong—

I just hope I can be strong enough now

for the both of us.

© GB 2019

Wearing my heart on my sleeve today...

Breaking "Even"

Lady Luck is a fickle bitch

making random choices—

who will win…who will lose.

We play a steady and patient game

biding our time, knowing the odds

are rarely in our favor.

In this game, sometimes just

breaking even counts as a ‘win’

and given my 'druthers'
I’d druther walk away

with what I came with

      ...than end up in the hole.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Never Give Up, Never Surrender

It’s not always about doing what we “want” to do

sometimes it’s about doing what we need to do

about pushing ourselves to get out of bed

out of the hole, out of the ‘low’ we are in

“Never Give Up, Never Surrender”

I’ve watched you struggle with the day to day

never giving up, propelling yourself forward

when you barely had the strength to sit up.

I’ve watched you will yourself to stand, knees shaking

forcing your atrophied legs to hold you

—just a few moments longer.

When asked if you would try again,

it wasn’t even a question, you just did it.

What is the measure of a man?

I’ve watched you lose your strength, your balance

your ability to work, all the things

that you thought defined you

to discover that what truly defines you

is that part of you inside that

never gives up, never surrenders.

I’ve watched you come back

from the brink of forever,

to grow stronger every day.

You are so much more than the sum of your parts,

you are the epitome of faith and belief:

belief that God won’t give you more than you can handle;

faith that if He wills it, you will get better.

I may struggle with my own beliefs,

   all but one that is…

I believe in you, who you are,

the example that you set.

I have watched you fall, pick yourself up

brush yourself off, and try again.

You have taught me that if you are willing to try

then nothing can keep you down.

That is all any of us can do,

get up, brush ourselves off

and keep moving forward.

…and never, ever, ever give up.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Photo from personal collection, 2015

The Time Thief

There’s this man I’ve come to know

he stops each day to say hello

he stays for just a little while

with gentle voice and ready smile.

The Time Thief’s taken quite a lot

so many things now he’s forgot;

and though he still recalls the past

he isn’t sure what he did last.

His lovely wife arrived here first

and he, for better or for worse

came to join her, followed suit—

unhappy, yes,  but resolute.

 He struggles now to understand

this place he’d never thought he’d land.

His voice grows quiet, fades away…

forgetting what he wants to say.

a shadow furrows his thin brow,

then he returns to here and now.

He smiles, then he says “goodbye”

and turns to leave without reply.

The Time Thief watches from the wings,

knowing that he pulls the strings.

He lies in wait to take away

all that we would do or say.

He scrambles thoughts and spits them out

and he is, without a doubt,

the worst threat to the elderly

…unable to just let them be.

Yet for moment on this day,

we held the evil thief at bay.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Finding the "Groove" Again

Internet Image, James B. Whiteside, hard edit

“One step forward, two steps back…

Two steps forward, one step back…”

You dance this strange, unconventional dance

trying to find your balance once more

No pirouettes, no jetés—

only petite adagios and tour lents instead;

  —pivoting cautiously—

as pain surveys silently stage-left

anxious to claim the spotlight again.

Eyes forward, back straight

slow and steady—

     stand…hold… rest

     stand…hold… rest

building strength

until each movement becomes rote;

…your accolades acrued in each forward measure.

©  Ginny Brannan

Internet Image, Darek Fidyka, hard edit

Dance terms:

Pirouettes: spins

Jetés: throw the leg, jump with a throw of the leg

Petite “adagios” small slow sustained movements

tour lents: to turn slowly on one leg

Searching for the Silver Lining

The minutes have turned to hours…

days slowly stretch into weeks—

a storm rolled in and took you down

            for a moment, thought you drowned

…still you stood upon storm’s retreat.

Helpless, we watched the skies darken.

Unknowing, observed the clouds swarm.

Without any warning

            the red haze was forming

too quickly to steer from its harm.

How long till the lightening passes,

to assess all the damage that’s done?

Through the wind and the rain

            and the endless pain

we chase the elusive sun.

And I search for the “silver lining”

some sign we’ll return to the norm—

as we wait a bit longer

            while you grow stronger…

          I still cannot see past this storm.

©  Ginny Brannan 2015

Hanna’s Story: When Two Hearts Beat as One…

Inside this hellish limbo

the moments slip away

yet time drags on forever…

What god would take this boy,

this child from his mother?

Ambivalent, I pray…

and yet we know the answer—

our lives in disarray…

A cruel joke revealed:

this illness like no other—

white matter disappears.

Forever how we searched…

the answer so elusive;

each test inconclusive.

Now finally we know—

too soon we’ll see you go.

We chose your lot today

for when, at last, you sleep.

Until that moment comes,

will hold you in my arms.

Can barely feel a pulse

and yet I feel your warmth.

How can I say good-bye?

You will not see me weep

though deep inside I cry…

I haven’t slept in days

how can I rest these eyes?

…each moment left, a gift…

All I want is peace,

to ease away your pain—

perhaps a brief reprieve

from moment preordained…

                  then, when my time is through

                  I’ll beat a path to you…

                  and hold you once again.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

The image shared is of my two young cousins, Hanna and her son Cole. When Cole was born, his mother never realized the journey her life would take. Told at birth he was "normal," she would never hear those words again. Throughout his life he underwent multiple surgeries for hearing, eyesight, feeding, seizures. They travelled to Boston, Chicago, the National Institute of Health in Maryland  looking for answers. In early December an answer finally came—Cole was diagnosed with "Vanishing White Matter Syndrome." There is no cure, and very little time left for this precious 6 year old. Hanna is strong, she's had to be, yet no mother should have to bear the loss of their child. 

Written in first person, Hanna's voice.
In loving memory of Cole Michael Rapini, 2008 — 2/06/2015 

What Demons Haunt…

What darkened demons haunt her soul…

like one possessed she walks the halls—

on secret mission just she knows.

What is it that assumes control,

that she, herself, cannot express?

Her shadows race along the wall—

this tiny woman, now obsessesed

with need to move and not be still.

Time detracts, we can’t forestall           

when age gives to dementia’s will.

Just for brief moment, stops her quest

yet sensing mission incomplete,

once again the demon calls…

No cure for this unwelcomed guest,

and no reprieve once he befalls.

With no remission, no defeat,

the cruel affliction runs its course.

The victim is herself, unfeigned;

yet for observers, bittersweet—

with aching sadness, bear the pain.

… still more apparent with each day—

    what birth endows, age takes away.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

In Frontotemporal dementia, people will often show signs of obsessive-compulsive behavior such as hand washing or walking back and forth from one area to another. They have the need to carry out repeated actions that are inappropriate or not relevant to the situation at hand. Breaking this cycle is difficult and the caregiver must decide if this behavior is simply annoying or unsafe for the person and decide if they need to intervene.

~ from http://www.dementiaguide.com

Of Magic Pumpkins and Glass Slippers

The lovely blond-haired maiden fair

took the stage and lived the tale;

a real life fairy story told

of talent and a voice of gold—

born with music in her soul.

In excerpts I remember her,

the pretty one I so admired…

I still see her as I look back,

belting out that rock and roll—

she sang from deep within her soul.

The clock has chimed and she must go—

the coach awaits its weary guest

to bear her home once more, to rest…

where she can heal— again be whole;

her voice still ringing in our soul.

© Ginny Brannan 2013

This is about a slightly older cousin whom I really barely knew. Yet one of my favorite childhood memories was her performance in a school musical of Cinderella where she sang the lead. Heck, she stole the show!! I can remember her in her teens when she was all about Woodstock, then hearing her sing at her brother’s wedding, then at a club in VT— lead singer in a band. Shortly after she left for California to sing and record. Then few years ago she came back her New England roots. Sadly, she passed yesterday, lost to early-onset Alzheimer’s. 
For Patti…you will always “Cinderella” to me.

Whispers from the Reaper

I answer a late call from an elderly friend

sharing the news of her husband’s test results.

No news that comes late is ever good…

Her words come in short bursts—

“Cancer of the lymph nodes,

  aggressive chemo suggested

  but he’s old… worn-out…tired.”

“Second choice: not-so-aggressive chemo,

  five-hour stint once a week for six weeks”

 “No guarantees.”

I hear the weight in her voice, the quiver…

then the words,

“Gotta go, can’t talk anymore.”

I‘m left thinking of the past dozen years,

all the tests my own husband’s had. How often

we’ve held our collective breath awaiting

results…always with the same thought:

 “Not cancer, not terminal, we can deal with it.”

And I wonder…how many times can one

 elude the boatman before he exacts his toll?

©  Ginny Brannan 2013

In my Mother’s Footsteps…

“The bile in my throat betrays the fear;

I stave against the words that I may hear”

Today I learn my fate—

not from crystal ball,

but from some robot

preprogrammed to find  

even tiniest trace of  

genetic mutation.

Name finally called;

walking toward office,

doctor whispers:

  “I have good news for you…”

    …and tears escape.

© Ginny Brannan 2013

In loving memory of my mom, Tina (1921-1963)

A story in 55 words, shared at d’Verse Meeting the Bar: Getting Tight (in here)
Sharing with the G-man, Mr. KnowItAll Friday Flash 55

The first two lines written a couple of weeks ago as I was awaiting results for BRCA1 and BRCA2 testing. Wasn’t sure where I was going to go with them, but they rolled over well into my 55 word story. Thanks for the idea Brian!  

Where Hope Thrives

Indiscriminate, it

pecks away,

taking toll,

riddles deep-hewn

scars and holes…

somewhat weakened,

still alive

bending, swaying

you survive.

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Image used with expressed permission

Charlie Parant, Yellow-bellied Sap-Sucker

 http://appetiteforphotos.blogspot.com