Thursday, November 28, 2013


Who does it?  Who get's it done.  Who moves mountains and makes breath feel less raspy.  Who?  Who does it.  How Who does it, is for only Who to know.  Who gives us pills and brings us washing.  Who sends us to a long driveway met by a huge glistening ebony man on a Harly.  Who sends us there to find a breath of hope right there in the presence of acknowledged fear. 

Who gets us up and gives us strength to say, "this I will deal with tomorrow."  Who does?  Who?  Why would Who help?,  My hands are spotty and wrinkled and look like Old.  Who would do that?  I'm not nearly done, but who decides? 

Who teaches us to love?  My babies need my help.  They are walking and crawling and swinging in swings.  They are going to college and recovering from pain.  We've been given too many blessings.  How can we carry they all?  Pick one.  No, two.  Not enough.  Okay, give them all to us.  We will lift them up as we can.  Who does it?  Who gets it done? 

Jed has been my other brain, my shadow, my other self; lifted my spirit, made, me laugh, given me thought. Now he's pain.  Pain.  Pain makes brains fuzzy and shadows sparkle.  Pain controls everything.  Who does it? It's not okay.  Pain is not okay.  Pain is not to be pilled away.  Pain will not be our God.  Tomorrow we will deal with pain so that we, together, can lift up our babies and take the part of life that makes grass grow and soup taste delicious and stray cats eat left over turkey.  We will live life fully.  It is we who gets it done.  The mountains will move because we decide to have them move. 

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