Valentine’s Day has comeand gone, and this has been after all ya’ll have gone away for some time now stretching from: 1982 – 1994. And I know I will never show those things I have written that Mom said to take up a pen and put all things from love to rage on a page. Something I have managed to do almost non-stop now since 2002, coming back from a Neil Diamond concert at NMSU, when the dam broke and my words no longer fell from my mouth to lie dying there in the dust at my feet.
Still when I do those open mike readings both in Texas and in Michigan I feel I can see those who were taken away standing there in the audiences I have read my work to. Having me wonder if I would be called a saint or a sinner? And would I be able to have my back patted in pride or would they simply hang their heads in disgrace at what I have penned? Having been visited during those times when I felt as if I was losing my faith or those things I have held sacred. Reaching out in the night and being told it doesn’t matter if I am a loser or a winner, as I had the courage to be brave enough to stand up and try.
Trying at times to find the calm, and trying to make ya’ll proud. Now there are times I wish I could hear their feedback and criticism about what I have penned and am willing to stand tall for, and fight for to be as I had created in these revision filled times. Dad who came down on me and asked why I sat and wrote what I do and called it crap. I wonder if he would recognize the evolution in action and the genre I chose to make mine with the help of the Master of the Language and the Captain who saved my life and helped me turn all things around, as I conquered a dream and was finally published with what he called crap?
Following what Dylan said and doing things the way Peckinpah did and not pulling my punches, and I know damned well I was never the perfect son or grandson, but I stop and find myself wondering if they all look down and have a smile on their face with each piece I find the time or make the time to write, or are they with me through it all?
At times there is nothing at all and I pick up my pen at times when the darkness and the shadows begin to fall like a hammer coming down hard on me. I ask that they continue to watch over and guide me through all things in this Vale of Tears known as life, and there have been times when I just wanted throw in the towel and give up but my heart won’t let me give up or in. Still I think of them now and I know they have felt the emotions I have poured out on paper and as the Vikings said; “a poor man has nothing but his two hands and if they are written of then they will live forever!” Which it seems I have tried to do with their memory through my pen.
In the past I was asked to remember the memory of a good friend’s sister for her, and have done the same for Mom, Lito, and Grandpa, with mentions of Lita in various pieces I have written over the years and still I know they are right behind me in their support as they always have been. As I am reminded that if someone has lost a sister, then someone has lost a mother, and someone has lost a father, and then someone has lost a son.
And a son should always tell his mother that he loves her, something I have wondered or has bothered me if I did back in 1992 when she was taken away for I do know I did tell the others before their time.
Copyright Timberwolf International LTD: November 2015 – 17