Grandpa

Rest In Peace

Today is going to be a hard day. We’re grateful to be together and we want to thank you for being here with us.

When dad asked if any of us wanted to speak my siblings looked at me, knowing I might just agree if they encouraged me enough.
Earlier this week I decided I’d better get my thoughts
down in preparation for a service but they didn’t arrive. Last night at 10:30 my words finally found me.

Grandpa had a son who
arrived every morning for coffee – a confidant –
a daughter who knew the best time
to call for a long chat, – best of friends – and a son
who made the best pancakes he’d ever
had – a companion.

Do I talk about harvest, a good coupon for the grocery store or hearty breakfast food? None. These three knew their father. But did we…

All I could think of when I heard the news was how well Grandpa massaged Grandma’s feet with peppermint lotion every night in the living room. I think that sticks with me even today as a beautiful reminder of how precious
love is but I knew there was more of the man I wanted to share today.

I guess you could say we were the first four of his eight grandchildren. The Nebraskans –
first ones to test his nerves, to make him chuckle –
in a way only grandpa’s do – and the first to ruin much of what he probably told
us to stay away from. We were the first four to eat all of his M&Ms – even the
ones hidden in the basement fruit room.

The next group of four grandchildren should thank us for helping Grandpa relax. Did he knock on the table harder or softer while playing cards with you guys? A man of few words and even less patience for shenanigans during card playing. Fairly certain it was a softer knock paired with a twinkle in his eye.

His two Kansas Girls, just down the street and his two
Colorado Boys, who loved fishing just as much as he did – you four were his pride and joy.

We know for certain, as a retired Grandpa, he loved watching you grow up. His perfected Grandpa chuckle was all thanks to you and his opportunity to finally be there for his loved ones activities.

We feel pretty confident Grandpa Willard taught us all how to work hard. If there
was daylight then there was time to weed the garden, move a water hose or tend to a flower bed. Grandpa ran the elevator and not a soul worried about how it was done. Grandpa always
knew how to do things the right way.

Grandpa taught us to enjoy the thrill of the ride.
A master at the wheel, he
often took time to drive us
for pizza. Pooches seemed to be his happy place. I can remember the pep
in his step when it was time for a good slice of pizza or the largest ice cream cone you’d ever see. When we
were kids, whether it was a trip for pizza, ice cream or supper in Denver, Grandpa
always delivered.

Mostly, we remember how serious Grandpa Willard took his family responsibility. Not a one of us ever felt neglect or concern for our safety with Grandpa near. He loved his family. The joy across his face was something we all vetted for. Making Grandpa proud was quite an accomplishment. His expectations were to do our best, don’t back down and remember to take care in what we were put in charge of.

Grandpa Willard was proud of us all. The hand tap, the adoring eye contact and the tight hugs proved it. We watched him love his children, Grandma,
and Dorothy this way. His love meant the world to all of us. There wasn’t much he missed or forgot. It may have
looked like we weren’t listening, Grandpa,
but we were – I promise.

Grandpa, when we got to your house yesterday you weren’t sitting in your kitchen chair waiting for us to pull in to the driveway, or looking for the prettiest finches in the backyard. You weren’t in your chair in the living room either. Its gonna take some time to get used to our new view.

We’ll do what we can to continue your legacy of hard work, a little fun and a lot of love for your great-grandchildren.
We love you.

P.S. Love you all too,

Aud ♡

Nebraska’s Emerging Writers – An Anthology

Two years ago I was approached by a publishing company and asked if I would be interested in submitting a short story for an anthology being created by Z Publishing House.

I submitted a story I had shared many years ago and it was accepted.

The head space I was in at the time didn’t allow for traditional excitement over the process, nor did it increase my personal productivity for having been asked.

When the anthology shipped to my house, instead of authentic joy over my name being included with other writers, I chose to pretend the publishing didn’t happen and hid my face.

I didn’t and don’t receive compensation for having been included, however, this process started something else entirely.

Soon, friends, very soon. ♡

The Beholder

Driving the farthest eastern reaches of the Sandhills as this scene beckoned. Was it the water, sunset or hills calling names? The topography, a sensuous mastermind, plays within thoughts while memories flood the present.

How dare it.

Just as beauty sets in, and atop the already gorgeous scene, to share this – would have been the only cherished wish left to whisper. A hand held. Hard kiss, even tug of the hair and a reminding of the natural, even recommended design for an alliance.

Useless comes to mind, but doesn’t it always? Untrustworthy. Less than. Nothing deemed attractive found near not even near, by not just one, but from many.

Wicked is fate as she tosses over another just out of reach, if only the physical qualities found irresistible and encouraged were obtainable by another’s remnants. Would life continue to offer beauty with hopes someone might see?

Where I Went Wrong

I flew in in the dark of night,
saw the lights of a city to where I’d never been.


In to a state I’d not once seen,
and a part of the country still foreign to me.


Welcomed with open arms, yet I could not feel them.


Searching aimlessly by my own accord,
instead of submitting to the joys of freedom;


ones offered by just stepping off the plane.

And when I left, I called and told him about the cookies.

Small Pebble In My Jeans

my attraction to hard, born through a lost memory,
existed,
created who I am.

an unusual warmth from the simplest of minerals I’ve grown accustomed to, need
and cannot explain.

I greet them, inspect
place them in my hand
and slowly they enter,
my pocket. Mine. My anchor.

each time I revisit the Rockies
the desire arouses
matures, alters in strength,
becomes habitual.

these rocks, their immensity
I want to claim as my own,
every year unwilling to ask
I leave, unbecoming.

*What I Would Have Shown You

Deemed Useless- Hiabun

To be left here, alone with thoughts, is a risk submitted to, but then doubt creeps in around me and one ponders if there is strength enough.

Yet, it is true. We’re made to endure.

Who do I think I am? Why do I think I matter? When did I decide I was more important than another?

To see beyond myself in order to rest my mind onto what will probably occur, is torture, I think. Why would I force myself into a mess before it’s time? Am I looking to intercede, possibly control or even wish the reality of the situation away?

No. I can’t imagine a life without.

What I need feels right inside. Am I wrong?

To want with all one could muster, yet sense it may never be, confines me.

I sense myself becoming that guarded individual I know all too well. Disappointment teaches and somehow I need to figure out how to grow.

Again.

To be open to the plan waiting for me.

I willingly prepare for my days ahead, and begin listening to words I’ve felt over and over recently.

Put this dream away. There isn’t an answer.

marked dismissed

sojourner living inside

redundancy evident

Survivor

When did my confidence go to battle with my insecurities?
Why are they winning?
I know better.
I am better.
I will continue to thrive.
Go. It’s been done before,
I survived.
I would again.

Throwing a temper tantrum would never work.

Waiting patiently gets me nowhere.

Being my quiet self is far too dull.

All that is left is to use my voice, yet, the quiver I hear isn’t very convincing as I try.

Fearing judgment may keep me from the happiness I know I deserve.

Wanting to be a playground, but instead I’ve become too common.

Take what is yours, these words I hear constantly in my head, I used to believe they were meant for me to say to the one who truly wanted me.

Maybe it’s what I’m supposed to do.

Huh, it goes against who I believe I am, but being left alone is too.