A life in threes

Month: March, 2022


Sometimes you have to wait
in the dark
For what seems like forever
Certain no progress is being made,
not even a little growth
Nothing seems alive
You, least of all
It doesn’t even feel like waiting, truth be told,
since waiting implies an end in sight —
and you haven’t seen one of those
in ages.
You’re sure you’ve been abandoned
It seems as though your own soul may have deserted you
But then one day
A day you didn’t think would come —
The smallest of cracks appears
Then the crack turns into an opening
Then the opening a breaking free.
Maybe it was the way the sun hit,
or how the rain fell
or how the planets aligned
or maybe something deep within you simply knew: NOW.
It’s not just that you’ve come back to life, though
You’re different.
The life within you feels humbler, since you know you know less now.
And more grounded, since your roots were silently growing deep all this time.
You understand now, there was something happening,
something profound
in that slow and tedious germination.
It’s a miracle, isn’t it?
How even in the longest and most brutal of winters
thousands of seeds are plotting
a most magnificent spring.~

~Leyla Aylin

art: Shanna Trumbly


Hail Pi!


Dear Bobby:

I woke up this morning, thinking of you.

When I logged into my laptop, with coffee in hand, Facebook reminded me how three years ago today, my husband, my youngest son and I flew home to Massachusetts.


Two weeks before, we’d gotten that terrible phone call.

They’d said you’d gone unconscious.

They’d said that you’d had a stroke.

We prayed so hard through the days between

You squeezing your mother’s hand suddenly

And when they’d said you had a long road of rehabilitation ahead of you.

We had so much hope that you’d come through this somehow.


Though what I remember most was sitting with you in the backyard on that warm summer day in July 2014.

We were listening to Amy Winehouse, drinking whiskey,  and talking about heartbreak.

(I mean, what a cliche, right?)

But what I remember most was how easily I had slipped into sharing details with you about my most recent hurts, the latest in the litany of pain that marked that horribly emotional, difficult summer.

But that was you – you were always so open, so easy to talk to, to laugh with, and to just be. You listened and allowed me to just be what I was that summer, which was probably sad, and maybe even more than a bit emotionally broken.

And I will never forget what you said to me that day, while I wallowed in my emotions.

You said:

I don’t know how I’m gonna help, but I wanna help. I’m hearin’ ya and I want ya to know I’m here for ya. I wanna tell ya, I’m here. I’m gonna be here for ya. I wanna help ya figure this all out. Always. I’m here. I’m here for ya.

And that was so you. You always had the blunt honesty to admit to me that you didn’t know what you could do to help me, but you offered me your presence, with a standing offer to be there to help me figure it all out.

Well, Bobby I never did figure it all out, but you listened, and you were there, and that was really what I needed. It did help me, you did help me. I will always be grateful for that, for your presence, and for your help.


It was hard to say goodbye to you, Bobby.

But I am thinking of you today.