ANNIVERSARY

By Lisa Huddleston

 

Days of births,

Years of service,remembering

Weddings and deaths,

We are all about such things.

So we mark them with stars on calendars

To remember and not forget.

 

 

What year did you build this house?

When did your daddy pass away?

Was it fall when she first learned the truth about her man?

 

Anniversaries—a ticking off of

Weeks and months and years.

Marking the hard work,

Rewarding the perseverance,

Remembering the pain as well as the joy,

Or simply acknowledging a lazy

Dislike of change.

 

Did you try to reach this milestone?

Was it more than breathing in and breathing out?

Did you believe the promise that time would heal all wounds?

 

Time, of course, does help; but stubborn scars remain.

White hash marks etched in small groups of five,

Silver lines cut in the thin skin of time,

Fading and fading but never quite completely

As long as we continue to mark the day

And call it, “Anniversary.”

REMEMBERING TO GIVE THANKS

Dad and me in 1961.

Dad and me in 1961.

By Lisa Huddleston

It’s been quite sometime since I’ve written–maybe the longest dry period since I started this blog. Much has been and is still going on in my head but much has not yet come together into clear thoughts that can be written down and then shared with others and so I have not made an attempt. It has felt pointless as it’s all been said before and there is nothing new under the sun or the moon or the stars.

But tonight is the night before Thanksgiving–not a good time to start writing as it is late and I am tired and we are expecting Chad, Heather, Nick, and Becky to come through the door any minute now and fill our empty and readied rooms so I may have to abort this half-hearted attempt at a post. But I want to and I need to take a moment to say that I am thankful.

My dad passed away just over a week ago and my head is swimming with muddled mysteries of life and death and afterlife and afterdeath. But I am thankful.

Ferguson is rioting and I am remembering my childhood and Detroit and dad’s being very very late that night and Martin Luther King, Jr. and fires on the news and rough stubble on a cold cheek when he would come in to kiss me good night. But I am thankful.

I am feeling disconnected and lonely and isolated and fearful but I know I have a wonderful blessing in the present in my husband and children and am considering that they chose to be “Team Lisa” during last weekend’s trip to my father’s memorial in Indiana and despite its being even worse than I feared they were with me. And I am thankful.

And since returning from Lafayette I have cleaned and cooked and will cook still more tomorrow and we will eat and talk and eat and remember and eat and forget and celebrate this life here together on Hudfarm. And we will be thankful.

Love and peace and joy and patience and selflessness and remembering and forgetting and blessing in all things be unto you. And may you all be thankful.