The Dream

I wrote this just recently as I started a new job and seemed I would never get back to my drawing again.  I get depressed and sullen when I can’t get back to the drawing board and express my emotions in art.  It’s just a part of me.

The other day, I just started thinking how long I have been at this and trying to become published on cards or flags…anything. To have a company decide to say “yes, we’ll try this”, instead of all the rejections.  More than 25 years I have been doing this.  And so , I decided to write this poem about someone who had to finally give up the dream, and say goodbye.  When you are an artist at heart, you can never truly say goodbye to the dream, but this is what it felt like to me. And yes, I cried.  And I can’t say I will truly ever give up.  Here is the poem:

The Dream

*I’ve come to say goodbye.

Although I will think of you often,  I have to grow up now and think of other things.

It was nice to think about you, though,

giving me the hope that I had something more to offer in my lifetime, so I wouldn’t feel so dead inside.

I guess it was just all a fallacy,

thinking I could somehow be another Mary Engelbreit,

living a life full of creativity and art and making a difference in the world.

You will forever be on my mind, but I will try hard to forget you.

It is just too painful.

I will now be too busy and  have other things to worry about,

like schedules, appointments and the daily rush.

So see, it won’t be so hard to forget you.

But you will always be a part of me and I know the memory of you will come out in random times of quietness and solitude.

I will think about how you made me feel alive, young, energetic and full of hope,

possibly changing the way the world thinks-

but I guess it wasn’t meant to be, you and I.

I’m so sorry.

Maybe I never really gave you the full attention and dedication,

even the time to our relationship, so you could grow the way you should have.

But life happens and things get put on hold and we fall back,

and I’m just too tired now to start over again and deal with the rejections

and trying to find someone to bring this all together.

So goodbye dream.  Goodbye for now.

I’m grateful you came into my life when you did.

Maybe someday, after I’m gone, they will find pieces of you and me and our lives together

and what could’ve been, and somehow put us back together.

And maybe then they will see our relationship wasn’t “all for nothing”.

Then maybe, just maybe, something we created together will be revealed… and possibly…

… stir up a memory

…reinforce a thought

…change an attitude

…make a difference.

I just wont be here to see it… and that’s okay.

And so, Dream, you won’t just shrivel up and die,

you will live on…

like you were intended to do all along. 🙂



It’s So Hard

Yet another journal entry on when my mom and dad got sick (the 1990’s) and with their passing, how I dealt with all the pain.  As I write this now, I can remember the feelings I had when I wrote this, like it was yesterday.

This is titled, “It’s So Hard”

It was hard when Mom got sick…the medicines,the doctors, the chemotherapy, the tiredness.

It was hard when Mom died…the last day,the funeral, the getting rid of clothes.

It was hard when Dad got sick…the confusion,the forgetting,the oxygen,the pills, the preparing.

It was hard when Dad died…the closure, the silence,the empty house.

It was hard when we had to sell the house where they lived for 30 years…the yard sale,the dividing of goods, the stress.

It was hard having a yard sale to sell all the little things that we thought didn’t matter.  We had to choose pieces of Mom and Dad scattered everywhere.

It was hard to close the door to the house for the last time.  Their spirits were there and I knew it.  I could feel them every time I visited…in plants, in books and music, in sweaters and caps and pieces of furniture.

The coffeepot my dad used everyday.  The decorations…everything…gone.

It was hard to leave the house on that last day.

I stood at the doorway and I whispered into the empty air, ” I’ll miss you, Mom and Dad.  I love you. Please be with me, not here anymore.  Goodbye!”

Then I took one last look and drew in a long breath, then closed and locked the door.

And as I backed my car out of the driveway, I passed Dad’s azaleas, morning glories and lush,green grass.

I knew this would be the last time, so I didn’t dare watch as I drove past the house.  Hold the tears back!

Oh, it’s so hard!

Close the door to the past, and press on into the future.  I remember the saying, “Bury the dead and live.”  It’s so easy to say, but hard to achieve.

I can only hope their spirits are not held prisoner at that house, but with us- their children, and in their belongings we got to keep for memories sake…

In the wicker furniture that was theirs…on my deck.

In their telephone stand… in my hallway.

In their hope chest…in my bedroom…

and in the aging, yellowing pictures in my albums.

They are with us now in spirit and I try to imagine them smiling and watching over us everyday now…

but it’s so hard.