Thursday, July 14, 2011

06 MAR 10

I'm tired.

My step-son died on Tueday, the 2nd.
Warming up for his black-belt test at the dojo,
he fell to the floor, dead.
He was 46 years old, married and the father of three.
The autopsy revealed cardiac arrest as the cause.
His own father died of a heart attack at the age of 45 and
my step-son worked hard to avoid the same fate.
He never smoked, he watched his diet, he exercised,
drank alcohol in moderation...
and yet, a heart attack felled him at age 46.

Seems that we cannot escape the will of fate.

Damn ...
just Damn.

R.I.P. Tommy.

           Tom Geocos holding son, Travis, at a family gathering ... Tammy Mei to right.


In Memoriam:

October 14th

I remember that day when the telephone rang
A woman’s voice announced there was an accident
You were not breathing
I jumped into the station wagon, praying
it can’t be, it can’t be
Two miles seemed like an eternity
Someone told me what happened
That morning the monstrous machine fell on you
piercing your brain
But I knew that you’d be alright

Everyone rushed to the hospital
But I stayed
wandering aimlessly
trying to understand

I love the cornucopia fields
the trees that huddled your home
the brook that rippled sinuously

I walked past the milkhouse
where you poured warm milk from the cows each morning and night
sometimes spilling the white liquid
multitudes of cats and kittens would lap with soft pink tongues

Each cow had a name
and knew which stall was hers
At Christmas
you and your wife exchanged gifts that said “From: Bessie” or “Goldie”
You loved your farm
the animals
the crops
your family

The detective stopped by to investigate your accident
I asked him if he knew what your condition was
With a kind voice he replied, “Didn’t you hear? He was killed.”
It can’t be
He has four children
a wife
a farm
God can’t do this
but He did

The birds stopped singing
The breeze stopped blowing
The brook stopped rippling
Everything stopped.
Realization of death filled my heart
overpowering every sense I had

Days passed into months
months into years
I walk aimlessly
brushing cobwebs from empty stall where
cows once stood hungry
Cats prowl
searching for warm spilt milk
A homemade birdfeeder sways in the breeze
the gentle brook whispers your name

- Paulette West

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