The last of the southern suns orange glow dipped below the silo, the day was over. “Acouple more hours till calm” I coaxed myself. “Just hold out a little longer.” I’d wait till the close of the day when all was quiet then I would fill my need. I had felt my anxiety rising. I’d been preoccupied and grown distantly quiet throughout the afternoon. I knew what I needed. And I knew where to find it.
“ I’m going on to bed,” Carl said as he kissed my forehead. “ You coming?’ “ You go on, I’ll be there in a little bit” I answered, anxious to be alone. It would hurt him to know what I was about to do. And besides, I needed the privacy. This was my demon, I would calm it. I would once again numb the pain and spare him the agony.
I could tell by the hum of his steady breathing that he was asleep. I had to slow my steps as the overwhelming urge grew stronger. “Shh,quiet” I thought to myself. I proceeded as quietly as possible down the creaky stairs to the basement. My hand turned the rusty doorknob and I stepped inside. The bare light bulb lit up the coldness of the room. I sat down on the old tattered couch and prepared to take my
I looked at the old dirty workboot and knew what was inside. He had put it there and I had discovered it. I knew it was in there, right where he had left it. To know that I had it within my reach brought on a sense of euphoria. I picked up the boot ever so carefully. I grasped it firmly with one hand and tenderly slipped my other hand inside. I tried to look inside to see it but couldn’t. I carefully let my hand trace over it. The softness of my fingertips felt it immediately and I grasped the boot tighter. Gently I felt one. I moved slightly with my fingertips caressing, “ yes right there’ I smiled. Two, theres three, four. As I let my mind envision it, theres the little one. Tears streamed down my face as I cradled in my arms the old workboot that held the impression of my sons footprint. A cry escaped from my throat as I traced with my fingertips confirmation of his existence.
I breathed through my nostrils as deep as possible, “Just a whiff, just a small scent, any trace of an odor, please I need it so” I cried out in anguish. I stared longingly at the boots. There were still traces of mud, traces of life. I touched each eyelet that he had laced the strings through. I hugged them, I kissed them, I talked to them. They had carried him to and fro, protecting him on his journey. I saw in my mind his walk. His swagger. The way he kinda turned his toes in. As I held the boots and felt his footprint inside, he was back. I was touching him. A real part of him was right there with me. He physically left these behind and they would never go away. I could always hold him in my arms once more by feeling the indention his foot had made. “Oh God, “ I cried out, “ Have mercy on me” With a heavy heart I placed his boots back where they lay, knowing that I need them, but he doesn’t. His feet now walk on streets of gold. He is treading the still waters, dancing in lush meadows and valleys. And one day he will walk to meet me.
barbi kinne
A path. A rugged, furrowed indentation that guides the way to a final destination. A trodden down, often traveled route that leads to an intended location. A corridor available for all to follow if they choose. A path leads where others have already been. They have broken the way. Therefor, they are our guide. Instinct tells us to stay on the path. That we will surely find our way if we follow the passageway that has been marked for us.
The paths we choose chart the course of our life. If there were no paths in life, would we have no direction? You can walk the path of righteousness. You can veer off the straight and narrow and end up on the path of destruction. A path can lead us into temptation or be our guide to salvation. You can choose a path already knowing what awaits you. You can follow a path seeking what lies ahead. Will you know if you have chosen the right path? Will you walk the trail worn down by the uneven gait of anothers stride? Sometimes the path that others choose will lead us down a path we did not want to travel.
I look at the worn path that my steps have pressed into the earth. This path leads me to my son. He chose to abruptly depart from lifes pathway. One day our paths will cross again.
barbi kinne
July. It’s that time of year again. I signed my request scheduling three vacation days from work. I’ll take a day to prepare, then a day to recover, and of course, (that day). I swallowed hard as I lay the paper on the boss’s desk. “Please, please, please, don’t ask me” I wished silently. He looked over the request as he signed his authorization.He smiled and politely asked, “Going on a trip?” “Yes, I guess you could say that” I answered as my mind began to visually transport me. “See you when you get back”, he called as I made a hasty retreat.
The journey that I am going on will be hard, and only God knows if I will make it back. It won’t take me long to get there, I know the way by heart. I will travel along the road of broken dreams as I search for a detour to avoid the nightmare.The baggage that I carry is packed with guilt and regret.
On this hot, humid, seventeenth day of July, I will dwell in remembance of my son, Joe. The last day that he lived. 7-17, the day that forever branded my soul and etched an unhealing scar on my heart. I will replay the events of that day over again in my mind as I search for answers. I will travel deep into the pit of my heart and soul as I struggle to find the hope that I am looking for.
I venture into the lushness of the city of the silent where I sit among the angels. Pain crawls out of my throat in a tormented whimper. My raspy cry disturbs the stillness of the meadow as “Come back to me” echos throughout the field of granite stones.
I have brought sweet colorful flowers for him. The breeze delivers a special baloon just for him. I watch until it is out of sight and smile as I picture it now being held in his hand. I cautiously move forward through the gut-wrenching wails as I cry out my love for him.The sun disappears and closes the day that stole my life. I reluctantly leave the meadow as I try to regain control of my brokeness.
“Did you do anything exciting?” the boss ask upon my return to work. My swollen bruised eyes blink away yet another tear as I gently answer, “Yes, You wouldn’t believe where I have been.” I have ridden the time capsule through the memories of my mind. I have ventured to the brink of madness. I have wallowed in the splendor of love. True, pure, deep, undying love.
barbi kinne
“Deaf ?””Please no” I cried as I began to make a deal with God. ”I’ll do anything. I promise, I’ll be good. Please let him hear.I will sacrifice my hearing. Take it, give it to him.” I left the doctors office that day with the life sucked right out of me. “How?”
“Why?” “What am I going to do?” A million questions raced through my mind. I vowed to do my best. I would make sure my Joe would achieve all that life had to offer. I was only slightly aware of the tremendous struggle that lay ahead. I wanted to cradle him in my arms and keep him forever safe. Protected from the pain that he would endure. Shelter him from curious stares and teasing that would cast him aside. My child, the most valuable thing in my life. I gave to him, my heart.
Would he ever speak the words, “ I love you mom” ? What about driving a car ? How would he know when to cross the street safely? Was getting a job only a dream ? And what about love ? The expectations were endless. He was fitted with a hearing aid at the age of two.
Life then began for the boy in his unhearing world. He started down the road of successful achievments.He learned sign language, was an avid lip reader, and had near perfect speech. He could order his own food at the drive-thru speaker at McDonalds. He was tall and handsome in his new black tux, like all the other boys at
the senior prom. But Joe stood out from the crowd. He was the only one wearing a hearing aid. He beamed with pride as he marched in his cap and gown to receive his high school diploma. He gave me a smile and a wink, “ Mom you worry too much.” he said as he drove off. His brand new drivers license tucked proudly in his pocket.
At age 21 he found a girl to give his love to. Joe became a husband and left my protective nest. He had conquered so many challenges, overcome so many obstacles. He had grown into a kind and caring young man. The hopes and dreams for my deaf child had been achieved. The marriage was but a brief celebration of unity. His tender, naive, and somewhat innocent heart couldn’t conquer the ultimate heartache, couldn’t overcome the worst heartbreak. He couldn’t escape the shadow of relentless despair.
At the age of 23, on a sunny July day, he removed his hearing aid, turned it off and gently lay it by his side.In his deafness he did not hear the fatal shot that ended his life.
barbi kinne
"Look Mom, I am luckier than you.” my son smiled as he showed me the enormous four leaf clover he had found.”I got it while I was working” he boasted.My twenty three year old son was having his share of bad luck lately.Maybe things were going to get better.I smiled,glad that his childlike happiness had not vanished. He painstakingly pressed it and placed it in the clear photo slot in his wallet.Such a simple thing,a piece of grass,so to say,but he was restored with hope at its finding.
Luck,Hope,Faith,and Love are said to represent the American symbol of this rare oddity. Irish tradition says the shamrock that includes the fourth leaf represents the Father,Son,Holy Spirit and the Grace of God.The first literary reference to tradition of the four leaf clover was made in 1620. The significance invested in the four leaf clover pre-dates Christianity.
The day I spotted the first clover was no ordinary day. My son was gone.His smiling face,forever gone. I picked it from its earthly home and tucked it away for safe keeping.A journey that I had not expected had begun.Through the course of the turmoil there were things to be dealt with,decisions to be made. The first few clovers I found I dismissed as luck.They were found at every significant occasion in the days to come. Wherever I went a four leaf clover was there to greet me.
After choosing the monument that would memorialize his name in stone,I retreated to my flower garden to cry. It was just days before that he had sat there with me and I held him in my arms as his heart broke.I watched his tears drop as I told him ,”Things will get better,it will be okay.” My eyes focused on it through a blur of tears.It was about three inches tall,growing right in front of the rock border,as if it had been placed in front of the stone.How could I have not seen that before? I gingerly retrieved it as I took care to preserve its perfect petals.
The fourth leaf on a clover is caused by a rare genetic mutation produced in an average of 1 in 10,000 three leaf clovers. It is a magical experience to find this lucky charm.As infrequent as spotting a falling star in the night sky. It gives you a feeling of euphoria, like you are special, chosen to be blessed by being given this unique gift. Each time I see a clover, I know that God is showing me that he is near to me. That he has not left me alone to grieve and mourn. I am recieving through the four leaf clover his message that my son is okay. And with Gods abundant
blessings in my life, that I will be too. My version of what the four leafs represent are, a hug, a kiss, an ‘I love you”, and “I’m Okay.”
The majority of my clovers I have found where my son is now silent. As I kneel down and quietly whisper,”Momma’s here” my eyes immediately fall upon numerous four leaf clovers.I press and protect their perfect uniqueness.In less than three years I have found over two-hundred of these mythical symbols of good fortune.
Luck? No doubt about it.I am so lucky to have had him.And through the message of the four leaf clover,I can smile.
barbi kinne
 | ||||||
Addicted
