November 2011
3 posts
tribute to Jack O'Kelley, grandad
they say he’s the only spouse who comes every day. every meal…
they keep telling him to take a break…
but he says the only time he is happy is when he is there with her.
there’s a dead look to her. a dead stare about her piercing blue eyes. those tiny oasis’s framed by white wrinkles.
they are fixed into space on points unseen. focusing hard, determined to grasp,...
strings.
there’s a mumble, a buzzing of chatter within the theater as the strings randomly chime in. vibrations which translate to notes flying through the air to greet the busied ears of the unseated audience….
finally as each string is held stationary by its owner, the conductor seizes control and with just the slight issue of his wrist, the nod of his head and the lifting of his elbows...
in dedication to a friend, who was much like me.
he was so frail. so small. so helpless. so hopeless.
so weak, that weak is an exaggerated understatement… his skeletal frame shivered in my arms as his tiny parched tongue stroked every inch of skin it could reach…it was as if he was doing everything he could, all that he could, spending every last ounce of energy in displaying his love for me. it was almost as if he was saying...