Strengthen Me Lord

Wow, I recently came across a box that I had stored away some time ago that is full of things I had kept involving our journey through infertility treatments. It holds everything from empty prescription bottles, ovulation test kit boxes, pregnancy test boxes; to a calendar of so called “fertile” days, pamphlets and books and includes a very emotional letter addressed to the dream child all the other junk was supposed to help create. I don’t even remember what all is written in that letter and I haven’t had the heart to open it much less read it. The pain is still too fresh, a lifelong dream is dead and my heart is still breaking.

I am able to put on a good show of strength for others when necessary but ultimately it’s like a fire raging in my veins and it’s excruciatingly painful, especially through the holidays. Christmas is so much a child’s holiday and Thanksgiving is all about family and thankfulness. It is extremely impossible to avoid social situations that feel like hundreds of knives stabbing into my heart. I love the babies and children in our family tremendously and want so much to enjoy them but I find myself being torn to shreds when I see them or even hear stories about them. Then I feel selfish and mean for feeling that way and a cycle of guilt pounds my brain until I’m just too exhausted to even sleep properly.

Some days I can’t even cry when I need to. I will feel the tears behind my eyes begging for release but my eyes refuse to give them up. A nagging voice in my head mockingly reminds me that I should be happy… at least I held an angel once even if her time here was far too short. The thing is holding that angel gave me a feel for Heaven and my arms ach for that feeling again. How do you explain to your arms that Heaven must wait? How do you explain it to your heart?

What’s worse is that I know I’m not the only one hurting from this. Robb is strong and his pain rarely shows but I’ve seen it and we have discussed it many times. He is mourning too and I don’t feel like I’m able to support him through his grief as well as he deserves because he is always so busy being strong for me. We have both shed our tears but his emotions are so much more controlled than mine. It breaks my heart to see him in pain and I know it does him to see me this way. We are broken and healing takes such a long time.

There are those who think we should just be over it by now, after all it’s not like we REALLY lost a child or anything right? Maybe we “should” be over it but it’s just not that simple, to us we did lose a child, we lost several all at once. They may have been dreams but they were ours and they were part of who we are. I know that may sound crazy to some of you but feelings aren’t always logical and there can be no scheduled time limits on grief.

Robb and I both have a strong faith so I understand that God has a plan for us, that we are just being tested and ‘seasoned’ as some call it. Still sometimes my strength fails me and I stumble. It may not seem like such a heavy cross to others on the grand scheme of things but it certainly is an exhausting trial from my perspective. Thankfully God is faithful; he will not let us be tempted beyond what we can bear. We will endure and our reward will be worth it all some day soon.

But for now I have to decide what to do with that box of shattered dreams. I thought about burying it in a little personal funeral ceremony (you know … like burying my dream babies), perhaps that would give me some closure; but part of me feels like that is just TOO morbid and insane. Maybe I should just toss it and be done with it.

　
Psalm 119:28 NIV
My soul is weary with sorrow; strengthen me according to your word.

Childless woman's dream

I can see you,

but I cannot touch.

There is the hug

that I want so much.


The shock of hair

curled and brown.

If I picked you up

I'd never let you down


In dreams at night

when we meet this way

I feel fulfilled

and we sit and play.


And you and I

are the only two

That know about

this rendezvous.


(Author Unknown)

Some Dreams Just Don’t Come True

Leanne S. Pippin ©Copyright 2010

Every child dreams of growing up,
Imagining what will be.
Will they be a superstar, a fireman,
Or sailor of the sea?

Some dream of glamour.
Some dream of fame.
Every dream is different,
For no child is the same.

My dreams seemed so simple
When I was still so small,
I was certain that in time
I would achieve them all.

But dreams are sometimes fickle;
As slippery as a peel,
And often leave you traveling
Without a steering wheel.

I never dreamed of stardom,
Or sailing on the sea.
Fires were far too scary
And glamour’s not for me.

I dreamed I’d be a mother
Like those who came before;
And carry on a legacy
From the families of yore.

But fate it seems has other plans
And dreams mean ought to him.
For time passes quickly
And chances become slim.

Some people take for granted
The lives within their care.
And really can’t imagine
A world without them there.

There’d be no smiles or giggles,
No cuddles in the chair.
No one to call you “Mommy” ("Daddy")
No favorite teddy bear.

There’d be no birthday parties,
No sticky faces to clean.
No drawings on the refrigerator;
Or treats on Halloween.

You’d never get to watch them grow
Or guide them along the way.
You’d never get to teach them
How important it is to pray.

I’ve been told that I’m lucky
“Children only break your heart.”;
“This world’s no place to raise a child.”
I’ve been told “I must be smart.”

I don’t want hear those things
So forgive me when I say
“How insensitive of you,
I don’t see things quite that way!”

So please don’t try to tell me
That I’m better off this way
I’ll never be convinced
You believe all that you say.

I know that you may mean well
And only wish to ease my mind
But a hug would do much better
Than all those words combined.

I’ll never be a mother
My family branch ends here.
There’ll be no one to follow
That much is now so clear.

I dreamed I’d be a mother
I never had a clue,
No one had ever told me,
Some dreams just don’t come true.

Who am I?

I thought I had prepared myself emotionally for the possible outcome of a complete hysterectomy but maybe that was impossible. I have spent my entire life praying for a child of my own, my ENTIRE life. Meeting and becoming friends with Kim who had Cassie and laid her in my arms gave me a small glimps at the mother I could be before she was taken back to Heaven and I will forever be thankful to God for those two short years. I was just a baby myself holding my first doll and when I knew, just knew that motherhood was I wanted for my life. I wanted to do it right. I wanted to be married to the right man, have a good stable home grounded in Christian values. Yes... I did think about things like that when I was a kid. I was a strange kid, I even over heard a few adults say so on several occassions. I was aware of the world and the things in it. I knew things kids just shouldn't know, not that anyone told or taught me those things, I just somehow knew them. I don't know why, I don't how, I just did. I was a dreamer though and the future was just waiting with all sorts of great things. I dreamed my babies, my children, my future so many times it made it all feel real to me. I didn't stop there I dreamed my entire life and could find myself spending hours in my fantasy reality, it always seemed safer to me than where I really was. I now know that reality never really follows dreams, at least it never has for me. There are MANY blessings in my life but NONE of them are what I dreamed they would be. Some are better and some worse that is the way reality works. It's not always pretty, but it is what it is. I lost myself inside my dream world, so sure that if I really believed it and prayed hard enough for it, it would all one day come true. Prayer doesn't work that way either, God has His own plans and knows what's best for us even we ourselves often don't. We may disagree with Him but He is always right and one day we will understand it all. Waking up from a dream you have been in your entire life is hard to say the least. I find myself wondering who I really am, and struggling despretly to figure out what God want's me to do here in this life. I fear that I am missing His message for my life, how He wants me to use my abilities to further His purpose. I mourn my dream babies deeply, the lives they will neverr eally have.They are still part of my heart no matter how unreal they may have been to everyone else. I don't know why God has chosen me for such challenging test of faith but I thank Him and I adore Him. I must be pretty special to be chosen to endure such sacrifices and still be able to say, I know my Lord and Saviour, I know He has a plan, I know He loves me and I know He understands my pain. I know I will get my reward in Heaven and it really WILL be far better than any dream I could ever dream. In the mean time I find myself going in circles wondering who I am and praying I make it through the whirlwind, it's dizzying.

A little (ok a lot) about what is going on with me.

Most of you already know that I have been struggling with mounting health problems for the past several years but many of you still don’t understand exactly what I’m facing each day. So I have decided to follow my cousin Kristi’s lead and explain it all here.

Every since I was around 13 years of age I have struggled with mysterious fainting spells that sometimes lasted up to two hours. Doctors couldn’t seem to figure out what was wrong with me or why I was continuously having these episodes. Over the years the spells progressed and I would have them more frequently. Test after test was done and different medications were tried to no avail, until in early 2004 I was FINALLY diagnosed with a rare form of epilepsy that would continue to increase as I aged if something wasn’t done. I now take an anti-seizure medication that mostly controls those episodes, though still not entirely.

I thought epilepsy was the worst of my troubles until in mid summer of 2006 I began suffering from minor aches in a few of my joints. I thought at first that I had been overworking myself and passed it off to getting older. When the pain begin to increase and started affecting several other joints I started to worry. I didn’t have health insurance and we were struggling financially at the time so I didn’t immediately seek a doctor. By February of 2007 I was in so much pain that I could barely move and when I did it was excruciating. Every joint in my body were inflamed, swollen and bruised and I had lost all ability to even dress myself. I was completely bed bound and even just lying in bed was painful. I barely slept and nothing I took for the pain helped.

I finally called and begged the health department to help me. I was nearly hysterical and was sobbing pathetically as I explained to the health department nurse that I didn’t know how much more I could take but I didn‘t have the money to pay. They agreed to see me but could do little. They did blood test and discovered that my white blood cell count was through the roof and I had a lot of sediment or ‘trash’, as they called it, in my blood but they didn’t know why. They could clearly see the swelling in my joints and could tell that I had severely limited mobility. I frequented the health department for test but they are unable to give out strong pain medications so I had to continue in pain for nearly year as my condition just got worse and worse. Ultimately in the end they had to send me to the hospital emergency room because their hands were tied and they didn’t know what else to do. Of course that didn’t go well and the medical bills just kept mounting.

After nearly a year and half of being bed bound and in excruciating pain I was FINALLY sent to a rheumatologist who diagnosed me as having a severe auto-immune disorder called psoriatic arthritis. It is extremely rare for someone to have such a severe case of it as I do, especially as young as I am. Leave it to me to have ANOTHER rare condition!

Psoriatic arthritis is often proceeded by a serious skin condition called psoriasis which I have on my scalp and forehead. I had had mild cases of it since I was teen but never anything like I have now. Psoriasis is marked by a rapid buildup of rough, dry, dead skin cells that form thick scales. The arthritis that occasionally follows someone with psoriasis causes severe pain and stiffness in the small bones and joints. Both are autoimmune problems - disorders that occur when the body’s immune system, which normally fights off infections, begins attacking healthy cells and tissue. The abnormal immune response causes inflammation in the joints as well as the overproduction of skin cells

What are the odds I would have a rare form of epilepsy and severe psoriatic arthritis?

Well here is yet another rarity…

A very small percentage of the people who get psoriatic arthritis, myself included, have what is called arthritis mutilans - a severe, painful and disabling form of the disease. Over time, the mutilans are and will continue to destroy the small bones in my hands and feet, especially my fingers and toes, and will lead to permanent deformity and disability.

To add to all that Psoriatic arthritis is a systemic rheumatic disease that can also cause inflammation of the body tissues away from the joints other than the skin, such as the eyes, heart, lungs and kidneys. There is as of yet no cure for it, only treatments.

So anyway after the diagnosis the doc put me on a low dose of chemo in order to try and kill off some of my immune system so that there would be less to attack me. For nearly another full year I was on chemo alone for treatment and it had little success unless thinning my hair was the plan. The doc finally decided to get me on Humira along with the chemo. The Humira allowed me to move again, though it didn’t completely make me better. For once in over two years I could sleep properly again, and could do a few things on my own again.

Humira which is an injectable medication that I have to have every other week also kills my immune system. So I have to take more precautions to keep from getting an infection that someone with a normal immune system might. So when I developed a kidney infection last November I had to stop taking both the chemo and the Humira in order for my body to heal. Without the meds, my bones once again begin to get worse but there was nothing I could do to stop them.

I have since begun my injections again, I restarted them six weeks ago. They haven’t had a lot of time to get kicked in real well again, but I keep hoping. I have not currently restarted the chemo because my husband and I had wanted to try for a baby again but I may have to have chemo soon for other reasons, which I will explain later.

On top of all my other medical conditions I have what is called PCOS- Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. I know many of you ladies have a form of it yourself. There are so many symptoms to PCOS that I wont go into all of them here but I will say that I have had it bad and it has most likely destroyed my fertility. Because PCOS affects the endocrine system which in turn controls nearly all the hormone levels in the body, the hormones that regulate the female reproductive cycle gets off balance. Because I have had irregular cycles for years my uterine lining became too thick and painful cyst developed on my ovaries. A thickened lining can cause uterine cancer and apparently in my case it has.

I was recently diagnosed with uterine cancer and told that the best option was to have a complete hysterectomy but because I am still of child bearing age and my husband and I so desperately want a child we have decided to try and save my uterus. We were told that it was possible that an aggressive hormonal therapy could save my uterus for at least a short window of time in order for us to put in one last effort to conceive. In most cases there is a 30 to 50 percent success rate with hormonal therapies, not the best odds be we were willing to risk it. The odds of the cancer recurring are extrememly high and is it often more aggressive.

We have undergone fertility treatments in the past with no success but were prepared to try some stronger methods, including the possibility of invitro-fertilization.

The problem now is that I had an appointment with an oncologist Tuesday and during that visit the doctor discovered a large, mysterious mass behind my uterus that isn’t supposed to be there and now things are on hold until we know what that is and what needs to be done. I have an ultra sound scheduled for Monday of next week. The doc said it is possible that I have ovarian cancer as well as uterine cancer and in that case I could lose it all and have to undergo radiation and chemo.

I am not telling this story for sympathy, I am telling it so you all will know why some days I am too sick to get on the computer and I miss a lot of family gatherings. I may struggle physically but my life is great in other ways. I have my God and my wonderful family. I have my amazing husband who came as a package with another wonderful family and I love them all dearly. I have a roof over my head and food to eat. I attend a fantastic church full of loving, caring people and I still have my mind, what‘s left of it. :c) So my life really is MUCH better than it sounds in this note. I’m not complaining, or least I’m trying not to, I am just informing. :cD

I'm just Mad!

You know what? I just don't care! I'm mad and I'm going to say it! It's not fair! It doesn't make sence! The world makes no sence and I'm mad! I grew up believing that I was supposed to have a dream so I filled my life with them. I had lived in dreams, I believed in dreams, I had goals. I was told I could achieve anything I set my mind to. HA! What a joke! I was later ridiculed for living in a dream world, which I guess I sort of end up doing. My mistake of course. Now I have no dreams, no goals, nothing, what's the point really? They're useless heart aches really. I never wanted much out of life. I never wanted wealth, I would have been satisfied with poverty it is something I have known a long time. I never wanted fame, I'm kind of shy anyway. I never wanted a fancy career or a refined education. All I ever wanted was love, a husband and children. Those weren't three seperate dreams they are all part of the SAME dream, you can't take any part of them out and still be ok, it has to be whole to be fair! But I will never be a mother! I have the perfect husband and the perfect love but we can't make babies because I'm broken and we are poor! How is it fair that babies are born to people that don't want them and are left in dumpsters to die or are born addicted to crack or alcohol or aborted before they are even given the chance to live but we aren't even given a chance to have one?! How is that fair?! I am a Christian and I know God has his reasons, but I can't understand them. I have prayed and his answer has been NO and it hurts. Have I failed? Did I do something wrong? Am I being punished or protected? It sure doesn't feel like protection! I don't like believing that God punishes us in life that way but I'm not always sure anymore. I know I should study more. I remember when I was 5 years old holding one of my dolls, I would prentend I was all grown up holding my real baby. Well that will never happen and I am so angry and sad! I find myself struggling despretly to be happy for friends and relatives who are having and adopting babies of their own. Most of me is happy for them but there is this part of me that is so bitter about my own emptiness that I can't be as happy for them as I want to be. I can barely be around them while they goo and gah over pics or the babies themselves. I'm a pathetic mess! I just sound selfish and maybe I am, I don't want to be selfish. I have always neglected myself in persuit of selflessness so I even failed at that! what rip! I can't seem to anything right! My body is falling apart, and now my mind and soul is falling apart too, great I will be in pieces soon, anyone like puzzles? Nah, Well my broom and dust pan are by the back door. So I am mad, however you want to look at it, angry-mad, crazy-mad, I'm just plain MAD!

Forgotten How to Feel Happy

Sometimes it's seems like I have forgotten how to feel joy even doing the things that used to make me feel good. I've gotten so caught up in being down lately I don't remember how to feel happy. I'm not suicidal, so no worries, I'm in for the long haul, I just may not enjoy it all. I want to be happy but I don't remember how. It seems like all of my life dreams have been shattered and are irrepairable and I have never been without a dream before. I feel lost, I have no focus, no direction, no ability, nothing to contribute. I feel like a useless lump of nothingness waisting precious air. (Seriously, I'm NOT suicidal, just a little sad!) I stay sick all of all of the time with all of the meds I am on for my illness which is still not doing well and the pain bothers me so much. I hate the way people stare at me when I'm have to go into to a public place, I feel like a mutant with no cool powers to back me up. I really don't want to go any where any more and that really includes family get togethers because I hate having to wear that goofy looking medical mask that makes my face hot. I hate doctors not listening to me or saying I can't be right only to discover that I am right when my condition becomes much worse or has damaged something else!

The Magic

I remember, believe it or not, many things from back when I was still an infant in the crib. I don’t know why my long term memory is so well developed or why many say they can’t remember much before their 12th year, just that everyone is different. I do know that I have always been very aware of what is going on around me and my very first real clear memory of the crib is of my older brother, David, playing peak-a-boo with me through the bars. I don’t think I was even able to sit up yet because I never did. I am certain my mental processes were undeveloped, as of course they should have been at that age, because I remember being surprised by the fact that he could magically disappear then reappear so quickly. That magic and the possibilities behind it inspired and fascinated me and continued a process of development that all infants benefit from. I use the word ‘magic’ here not as in that which is performed by magicians, witches or sorcerers but in the sense of that which enchants or excites the mind. Where David likely thought it just amusing and entertaining to make me laugh at him, I was actually learning that there was more to life than just lying around on my back staring at a mobile or sucking on my ‘Binky‘ (a brand of pacifier). I also remember when I discovered that there was a bar missing from the side of my crib closest to the wall, and as soon as I was mobile enough I learned that if I stuck my feet through the bars and pushed, I could push my bed away from the wall just enough to climb through the bars and escape that confining world that was the ‘Baby Bed’. I was off in search of new magic and mysterious adventures and was excited with anticipation of what I might find in the bigger world which was the ‘Bed Room‘. My adventures continued as I grew and traveled from room to room, to yard, to new houses, to new rooms and to an open world called planet Earth. Life is so fascinating to small minds, why is it that as we age life no longer hold such fascination to us? Where does all that early magic really go? Is it the magic that leaves us or do we forget to see it? Does that fairy tale innocence have to be lost as we grow up? I didn’t want to grow up because most ‘grown-ups’ no longer see the magic or the magical creatures that live in our worlds. I didn’t want to live in a world that could no longer fascinate or inspire me to grow and develop. I didn’t want the monsters of my imagination to gain control. I wanted to hang on to my innocence as long as I could, but the evils of the world, circumstance and time have ways of gaining the upper hand. Yes, some of my childish fascination with life was lost and the true magic of the world is sometimes harder to find, but for me much of it still remains and I will hang on feverishly to every small grain of child like innocence that I am able to. There is still ‘Magic’ in my world and there are still new adventures to be had, new places to discover, things to be learned and new people to meet. I know far too many people who have lost their ability to see the magic and their mental development is stagnating from disuse. So many people walk around in a blind haze monotonously performing mundane task without ever seeing that fairy in the corner or that pot of gold gleaming at the end of every rainbow.

White and Black

Yeah yeah, I know ... another dark poem by Leanne. Well I do tend to write when I am feeling down and depressed or sometimes just confused and contemplative, and when I am happy I am more likely to craft or draw therefore you wont see many happy writings by me though there are a few some where.

by: Leanne S. Pippin
©Copyright 2006

What is above the clouds you perceive,
When your eyes turn toward the Heavens?
Are there rainbows and silver linings,
Like story tellers claim?

Or do the clouds just darken upon the rise,
And churn with stormy distillations?

Do the stars shine brighter in dark celestial spaces,
Like diamonds on black velvet?
Or do they fade within the shadows of a souls forgotten memories?

Do silent dreams develop within a rhythmic twinkling,
In music like a whisper through a gusty inhalation?

What feelings do you feel when all moments are lost?
Do all tears cease to trickle,
And rapture invade your thoughts?

Does every wish yet fulfilled be denied upon an instant?
And if such refusal be discharged,
Will your spirit lust for restitution?

Does your mind relax its wondering in peaceful opulence,
Or does it stagger restlessly lost in crippled yearning?

Does time create a barrier between lives once cherished,
With death become a swinging bridge across a gaping chasm?

Oh, what wonders of wondering does life create of death,
With each a hue of mystery,
Palest White,
And darkest
Black.

Bubble Wishes

Cassandra Michelle Bess

1-23-96/7-1-98

by: Leanne S. Underwood/ Pippin
©Copyright 1998

An child sits in Heaven
With bubbles all around,
Listening to the wishes
From loved ones on the ground.

For bubbles are the vessels
In which our wishes rise
All the way to Heaven
Beyond our mortal cries.

We often look to Heaven
In times of grief and sorrow,
Crying for the answers
To guide us through tomorrow.

Our wishes turn to bubbles
When tears fall from our eyes,
They drift upon a memory,
And soar up through the skies.

When the child pricks the bubbles
Our wishes she does hear.
She whispers them to Jesus,
The answers are so clear.

She smiles and says "We Love You,
The four of us, you see,
God the father, Jesus the son,
The Holy Spirit and Me!".

"We wait for you together
In this peaceful Heavenly Land,
And you'll be coming too one day,
When God takes you by the hand."

The Children's Cry

This is a very old poem, in fact it was written while I was still in high school.

by: Leanne S. Underwood/ Pippin
©Copyright 1991

In a world that doesnt know
Lies a child of four in pain,
Too poor for medicine
Her mother cries in shame.

In a world that doesnt share
A baby does cry,
Too hungry to sleep
The little one will die.

In a world that doesnt care
A little boy does dream,
Yet in his real-life nightmare
He can only scream.

In a world that doesnt hear
The cries of the children sound,
In agony will leave the children
Forever bound.

Illogical Panic

This is a stage poem designed to be acted out, so bear that in mind as you read it. It is difficult to get the full impact without the physical actions that were meant to go with it. This was part of a creative writing project that I was part of a few years ago.

by: Leanne S. Pippin
©Copyright 2006

Loneliness envelopes
A mocking echo joins its vicious game.
Surrounding shadows betrayed
By the suns lingering light.

Scattered thoughts
Fear swallows logic.
The scuffle of heels against stone and
tired raspy breaths struggle to dominate.

Thump, thump

A heart beats a rhythm

Thump, thump, thump

Faster it beats
Harder with each labored inhalation
It fights to keep up its strength.

Small drops of perspiration trickle and fall.
Tiny bumps form on sensitive flesh
The result of an afternoons failing heat.

Balance falters

Panic grows

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP

Bruised and Torn flesh temporally numb

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP

A soft whimper ensues.

Eyes dart swiftly from side to side
Searching the pending darkness.
Images invade the emotions,
Time slows and senses mature.

Small sounds increase to maddening volumes.
The head pounds with percussion accuracy.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP

Tears obstruct clear vision
Adrenaline gives strength to aching muscles
A mind sets its sight on a glimmering light ahead.

Abused feet swiftly carry a soul to its destination.
A door opens and slams shut.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP

A sudden feeling of safety

An exhausted body collapses in a heap upon the floor.
An otherwise quiet room is disturbed by
A deep exhale and a drawn out
Sigh of relief.

A heart slows its rhythm

THUMP, THUMP, thump
Thump, thump
Thump

Children of Chaos

by: Leanne S. Pippin
©Copyright 2007

They, the children of chaos
seekers of refuge
hide coiled in spheres of emptiness
With scarred souls bound in solitude
And cry into the night
For some dreamed of liberator.

Fragile minds
In disarray fanaticize
Of some new existence
Where they control their own world
And all their pain is buried
Beneath the shell of their creations.

They become prisoners incased
Within flesh walls
Where light is absent,
darkness drips incessantly
And rats gnaw at the recesses of their thoughts
Consuming all remnants of hope.

Ageless memories
Infect diseased imaginations
And ooze bitterness in fountains
Until stretched beyond it’s limit
A manacle snaps and breaks
Killing many and everyone wonders why.

A Soul's Journey

by: Leanne S. Pippin
©Copyright 2006

A soul begins its journey
When love first plants a seed..
And from that seed a life is born,
A miracle indeed.

Then safely tucked inside it’s life
The soul will begin to grow.
Fashioning it’s costume
To star it’s own show.

Much sooner than expected
That life will be of age.
And each new passing year
Will ever be it’s stage.

With the script ever changing,
And time in such a hurry,
The soul will begin to weary
From all life’s strife and worry.

The life will then be ready
To rest and then to cease
And the show will be over
The soul’s journey ends in peace.

The Bandage

by: Leanne S. Pippin
©Copyright 2007

I watched her through the window
Line her dolls along the fence.
She seemed so small and fragile -
Honey locks flowing free and limp.

She sang to them of Jesus
In her sweet melodic voice
A song that she had favored
Of those learned in her Sunday school.

Her loving little song made
Every cloud much brighter
As the words of “Jesus Loves Me”
Drifted through the backyard shadows.

She turned and saw me watching
And offered a little smile -
Blew a kiss upon the wind
And faded back to memory.

Awakened from my visions
Of days so long ago, by
A little voice behind me -
Whispering “Mommy I love you.”

A boy of only seven
Stood anxiously watching me
With the same painted blue eyes
As the girl in all my day dreams.

The day she’d died, his birthday -
Weakened will inside of me.
Then he refreshed my spirit -
Whispering reason in my life.

A shield against my sorrow -
He’s a miracle indeed.
With him there is no doubting -
The bandage on my heart, is he.

Soul's Winter

by: Leanne S. Pippin
©Copyright 2007

Heavily draped windows block all
but a trickling of light in an icy room.
She shivers alone within the darkness
And stares emptily at a tattered wall calendar.
It declares summer’s arrival
As if it’s demands could so easily
Melt the snow accumulated upon her heart.
Her soul is a frozen lake where sorrow skates
And her will rest in shattered shards along it’s shore.
No, summer does not dwell here,
Winter has staked it’s claim upon her
And no amount of sun can warm the chill.
She watches grey wisp dance mockingly
Around her with each breath she takes
And feels her tears freezing upon her cheeks.
She knows that she will soon be buried
Beneath an avalanche, frozen forever
But she has no desire to escape that icy tomb.
He had been her summer and had warmed
Through the winters of her past.
He had been her sun, her flame,
Her life fire and when his fire had gone out
She was left with no heat to sustain her.
Where now could she find warmth?
No, She wanted only to be embraced forever
Within the arms of the one who’s arms
Now lay cold beneath the ground.

A Yellow Rose

by: Leanne Pippin

©Copyright 2005

There is an exceptional flower

That grows amidst some thorns.
Her complexion is that of happiness,
Yet everyday she mourns.

Her petals are like satin,
Each one fragile to the touch.
They're too delicate to handle
Within a careless clutch.

Her leaves are like a blanket
To wrap her when it's cold,
They also catch the dew drops
That convey her hue of gold.

Her stem is much less delicate
And stands to face each day,
And even when she forgets her strength,
She somehow finds her way.

The thorns that she displays
Are fears that have come true,
So remember when youre pricked by one,
That she is hurting too.

For if you look quite closely,
You'll see her pain within.
And maybe with a little time,
She'll show you where she's been.

For she has often taken damage,
When storms do roar and bellow,
Then hides her scars quite cleverly,
Beneath her shade of yellow.

She weeps beneath the brambles,
When the rain is long delayed,
Then scrambles for the sunlight,
When they trap her in the shade.

She's a vision in the sunrise,
When the sparkling dew does glow,
A queen within her glory,
Destined for the show.

She's the mother in my memories,
My friend and more, life long.
The Yellow Rose envisioned,
In every dream and song.

Elven Dreams

A tranquil walk in a shadowed forest.
A place of peace for me.
I hear the call of ancient ones
"Come soar upon the sea!"

Yet within my soul I wish to stay,
If only for a while.
To sit amongst the shadowed veil,
Or walk the Mallorn isle.

I rest myself upon a rock
And slip through a grove of dreams.
Of golden trees with silver light
Filtering through dark beams.

I dream of days from long ago,
For now their time has closed.
I must away from this fair land,
On winds the sails are posed.

I savor all the memories,
And make my long goodbyes.
I stand to leave, it's time to go,
And tears fall from my eyes.

~ Leanne S. Pippin
~©Copyright April 1, 2003
Written for Jason Underwood.

The Old Man

By: Leanne Pippin

©Copyright 2003

An old man stumbled along a cracked sidewalk fumbling with a small paper bag containing a half empty bottle of cheap liquor. His clothes were old, torn, and mismatched and his thinning grey hair and scraggly beard were long and unkempt. His parched skin was pale and wrinkled far beyond its years and his violet blue eyes mirrored a sadness burrowed deep within a much embittered soul.

Something wet struck his cheek and he stopped to lean unsteadily against an old out of service phone booth. Feeling tired and extremely heavy he gazed up through bleary eyes towards Heaven wondering if he had felt rain. Far above the grey sky was cloudless and held a few stars bright enough to penetrate the many street lights and smog above of the city. When he noticed another drop of moisture travel towards his left ear he realized that the moisture was coming from his own eyes and he wiped a dirty sleeve across his face.

Already too tired to walk back to the old train bridge where he was accustomed to sleeping, he chose rather to rest where he was for the night. He slowly slid himself down with his back against the side of the old phone booth and there stretched his legs out in front of him. Still gripping his bag in one had he fumbled in his pocket with the other and grasped an old tattered photo of two young children. The boy stood with his right hand resting on the girl’s shoulder who sat very proper in front of him. Both had straight dark hair and violet blue eyes that even under the street lamps resembled those of the old man, though happier and more youthful. Staring for a moment at the two, he murmured a prayer to himself, kissed the photo and fell into a restless sleep with his head nodding forward towards his chest.

It had been years since he had slept in a bed, not like the comfortless rescue mission cots he used occasionally during the winter months, but a real bed with warm cozy blankets and soft clean pillows. There had been a time when comfort was a thing he had taken for granted; “Easy comes, easy goes.” He often thought now, for although life had never been “easy” as one might say, it had never been without its comforts or its ease.

He had been an only child growing up and had known the love of good parents. Although, never wealthy, they had lived in much comfort and shared a strong family bond. His father had worked at an old steal mill bringing home a minimum wage pay and his mother had sold home grown vegetables part time from a corner stand and had given piano lessons to several neighborhood children for a small fee. He had been the pride of his parent’s life, their greatest legacy and when he had found and married a sweet young woman they felt their dreams fulfilled.
Only two years after the birth of his son his father had taken ill, dieing within months and his daughter was born the following year. His mother struggled to hang on to the family home alone but finally relented to the help when he and his wife and children moved in. He took a job as a manager at a local hotel and his wife began teaching at a nearby elementary school. His life was good then, yet time sped by so quickly.

When war broke out several years later and rumors of the draft became a personal reality, comfort for the first time became an issue. His first night away from his family, with his children then seven and five, was the most uncomfortable he had ever been, as a long grueling bus ride with a large stranger sitting next to him allowed no room for comfort. Once he arrived things didn’t improve much, for nights were restless on his hard springy cot and days were even worse, with agonizing physical labor and battle exercises. The only comfort he found was through letters from his family and a single photo of his children.

He was allowed a single week to spend with his family before his was to be sent off to war. It was to become the shortest week he would ever remember though he spent it as well as he could, savoring the comforts of home and family. Sadly he remembered mostly the tears shed at his parting, especially those of his mother. It was to be his last memory of her for she died in her sleep six months later while he himself was trekking through the thick wet jungles of Vietnam, tired, scared and extremely uncomfortable. He wasn’t even aware she had died for many more months to come, since letters from home were rare. It had become extremely difficult to send or receive letters from where he was and they soon ceased altogether. He was right in the middle of the worst of the war and saw and endured things that marked him forever. Comfort then had become a treasured memory, a long lost friend that he missed almost as much as his family.
He survived the war, though not entirely intact, for he was much hardened and the warmth he had once radiated had turned to ice, not to mention the limp and constant pain he would ever endure caused by a gunshot wound to his left hip. He was released from the army after he was injured and had earned recognition for rescuing several of his comrades from an enemy ambush, and given a Purple Heart.

Returning home was little comfort for he had forgotten how to feel it. He had become numb inside. His dreams haunted him and although the war was over he fought it still inside his head. Each day was a struggle and he no longer enjoyed the things that had once given him so much pleasure. He would often try and drown the pain and incessant images from his mind with alcohol only to find that a drunken stupor only increased their potency.

Not understanding his melancholy moods and his over drinking his wife and children began to pull away until there was no hope of holding together the fragmented pieces of the once happy family. His wife finally divorced him and took his children later remarrying the Principle of the school where she worked.

He was unable to hold any job for long and soon lost the old family house his father had built along with any pride he may have still retained. He no longer had anyone who cared for him for even his children had taken his strange personality changes personal and had become bitter to his name. Though I guess they never knew how he still searched for comfort in the single photo he had of them or how he still prayed nightly for their safe keeping. So now here he was sleeping against the old phone booth with a bottle of liquor and a tattered old photograph his only possessions.

When the old man awoke the sun was blinding in his eyes, his head pounded, and his neck cracked painfully as he lifted it. He licked his dry, split lips and his tongue felt heavy and cottony. Looking down he noticed the photo still in his hand and slid it gently back into his pocket, then taking a quick swig from his bottle to moisten his mouth he drug himself to a stand. He winced with pain as his wounded hip snapped into position and scuffled down the sidewalk aimlessly. Squinting in the sunlight, lost in his own mind, oblivious to the activities going on around him he stumbled off the side of the curb to cross the road. Almost immediately tires squealed and a horn blared but he never heard it for all had become quiet and very still.

A young teenage girl stood beside a freshly dug grave looking lost and very out of place between the few men in military uniforms. She was dressed casually and looked rather frazzled and disorganized. She cried softly to herself as she listened to the impersonal speech that was given in honor of the old man during his graveside funeral. Behind the speaker an American flag lay, draped neatly across a mahogany casket and a line of uniformed men with guns stared stiff and blankly waiting for their cue to fire a 21 gun salute in honor of the deceased. No one that the man had ever loved or cared for was present and his funeral seemed formal and cold; emotionless except for the young girl.

When the ceremony was over and they had begun to lower the old man into the ground the speaker approached the young girl and asked her what her relationship had been to the man. He was taken aback when she stated that they had shared a space under the old train bridge and that he had told her many stories about his life. She told him how he looked out for her and taught her how to survive and how on the cold winter nights they would scramble to the mission for shelter and a warm meal. Suddenly turning pale and quiet she stepped to the edged of the hole as the men begin to throw dirt upon the casket and took out an old tattered photograph of two young children. She had found it lying in a small puddle near where the old man had been killed and had kept it in hopes of giving it to one of his children when they came to say their goodbyes. They had never arrived and she had found it hard to bear that this man; who had been some ones baby once, cared for and so well loved and comforted; and who had been a father pacing the floors late at night with his cranky newborn trying desperately to comfort it and had taught his son to tie his shoes and catch fish and ride a bike, and had spun is daughter around in a dance, tickled her nose with a feather and hung flowers in her hair; this man who had lost much of himself fighting for his country and his family and who had saved the lives of many men; this man who had been a friend to a lonely young girl; how could this man be forgotten; how could his family have abandoned him to suffer and die alone the way he had? This man she thought deserved so much more and with a sob she tossed the picture onto the casket and remained there until the hole was filled. “Remember him” she thought. “I will remember him.”
Today the old man’s grave is marked only with a small, plain, concrete plaque and the roots of an old Oak tree have warped the ground next to it leaving it slightly elevated on one side. The grass around and over it are well kept but no flowers are ever placed there. Squirrels scurry across often scrounging for nuts and birds sometimes perch there but no one else ever visits. In his small corner of the graveyard the old man seems forgotten, but in one mind he never shall be for I was that young girl and he was a lonely old man and if nothing else, my friend.

Poverty
By: Leanne Underwood / Pippin

In his lonely world where dreams don’t come true
Stands a lonely man with silver hair and eyes of violet blue.
His hands are old and his heart has grown cold,
Changed by the wheels of time,
And in a crackled voice every day he begs
“Sonny can you spare a dime?”

Dreams Betrayed

This poem was written to go with this picture I designed using Daz Studio.

Dreams Betrayed

She waited praying

with bouquet in hand

for her love to

fulfil a promise made.

Mournful eyes on her,

each a searing brand -

tattoos upon her flesh

of dreams betrayed.

Leanne S. Pippin

©Copyright 2008