Kevin's Watch

Being able to read her words is always a great blessing. Thank you, always, for sharing them with us.

Even though I have not been to the Watch is ages, something told me to come here today.

I think hearing Furls' words is the reason why.

What an awesome post. I'm still smiling.

Fist and Faith wrote:That's one of the coolest things ever!!!

I have wondered what Furls' initial reaction to the Mountain was for a long time. This is even more amazing than I imagined.

Thank you again for sharing these entries with us Brooke.

The sun was out on Sunday and I took my little brother for a walk in the woods with me. He gazed around, his eyes hold a light I can't describe, and they sparkled. His little face held such a serious expression so I asked him. "you okay, Stevie?"

And he lit up with such a beautiful smile. "I was listening, Brookie. I think the trees are singing, but I don't know the words." He tilted his head. "Mommy knew them, she used to sing them too." He went and put his hand on one of the trunks, pulled back the hood of his coat and pressed his ear to it. "She's singing now. Come listen."

So, I did. I put my ear to the tree and could hear a low hum. Stevie was mesmerized, his eyes were closed and his smile faded as he concentrated. Tears started falling from my eyes as he whispered, "I miss you, Mommy."

When we got back to the house, I went and got Mom's journals, and opened one immediately to the page where she wrote that entry. It was like I was guided to it. As I was typing it out, Stevie came and sat next to me. "See? Mommy heard the music too."

Fisty wrote:That's one of the coolest things ever!!!

Yeah.

I'd just like to add my thanks for posting here. I still feel like something of an interloper (through no fault of anyone else), but it genuinely makes my day when I see new posts in this thread.

There is no "interloping" in this or Uncle Steve's thread. All are welcome here.

Yeah, I know. You've made that perfectly clear. You welcomed me no fewer than three times . It's just me being thick headed .

Heh...well, you're lucky it's me that keeps calling you on it. If it were Mom, she'd let ya have it, but good.

She didn't tolerate "interloper" talk too well.

I did get the impression her temper was somewhat legendary. I shall stop my self doubting ways quick smart, before the cub grows into Momma Bear's roar.

Heh..

While I never was fortunate enough to meet her in person, I cannot imagine Tracie "roaring"; rather I expect that her style was to become more quiet when disappointed...the better to allow one to realize one's own shortcomings and resolve to correct the situation.

Brooke seems to already have the knack.

Hmm. Brooke? Confirm/deny? I seem to remember reading a post by Shadowlurker in which the impression was certainly that he got a tongue lashing. For his own good of course.

But yes, ironically there is nothing as disquieting as the silent treatment.

When it came to people putting themselves down, or saying things about not deserving love and compassion, she could most certainly "roar", but not too loudly. It was more like a "growl"

With Uncle Isaiah, she would get upset when he would say things about deserving AIDS, or that he was flawed from birth because he was gay. But, she didn't "yell"...she spoke in a "clear loud voice." Hehehehe.

Anyway...nothing upset her more than people putting themselves down.

So, no more "interloper" talk in here...Mom wouldn't like it.

I hear ya..."loud" and "clear."

Perhaps she saved the true roars for those who were hindering adoptions?

Fist and Faith wrote:Perhaps she saved the true roars for those who were hindering adoptions?

True that! In fact, her voice would raise several octaves and the decibel level would increase 10 fold. Those poor people in SA really got an earful sometimes!

Mom wrote this shortly after coming back from SA with Imani. I think everyone will understand where iniside her heart it came from...

Friday, February 11, 2005 3:22AM

After some time of being immersed in the dream, I became aware that I was indeed dreaming. That the children I saw running free in the sun, with smiles on their beautiful faces, were only my deep regret of not succeeding in saving them. Vivid color, eyes beseeching, my heart bled out the grief as the dream made them dance before me. One by one, drifting, fading away.

I whisper into the blank void, the dull sallow hue of bereavement, “it is rumored that I am only human.”

I fall, thinking as I drop, that the ground is so far away, too far down. A voice murmurs in my ear as I descend, “you are only human. Only. If only.” And I could almost hear the ironic smile in its cadence. “If only.” Then the ground came. It came with the force of a strike against the face and I lay flat, my nose breathing in the loom of fresh grass. “Would you survive such tragic courses if you were only human? Only?”

And I knew I was dreaming. The grass began to reek of burnt hair, flesh, bone. The sky blood red, rained down ash. The earth jolted, cracked open and a roar that sounded for all the world like the end, sent me over a cliff. “Do you drag me to hell?” I called out as the maw of the volcano opened up to receive me.

“You are only human. What use would you be in hell?” the voice mocked me. It taunted me. Somehow, I knew the dream would not conclude until I found an answer. The right answer.

“That isn’t hell.”

A bird came to rest on my shoulder. White, with a beak the color of a pale pink rose. I sat on a log of fallen dogwood next to a lazy creek winding its slow way through a rich forest. The bird shifted its attention away from me and looked off to the right. A child, skin deep brown, eyes the color of midnight, wearing a long, pale blue garment, walked toward me. He smiled, and the glory of all that is Heaven, shone on his beautiful face. He came. He came and sat next to me on the log. The bird left me and rested on his slight shoulder. He scanned the creek and the forest, his eyes flickered everywhere as he gazed at me. “It is not that you are only human. What befalls the world, befalls it beyond your ability.” His voice was the sweet trill of the bird that dozed beneath his ear. “If only.” With a smile, he nodded toward an open, untree’d space, where sunshine fell in full radiance around the children. They waved at me, began to dance once again. “These were not yours to save.” The child beside me shrugged, “these were saved long before.” The bird on his shoulder tilted its head, gazed at me and spoke. “Long before.” The child leaned, kissed my cheek, and breathed in my ear, “the rumors are not true.” Then he and the bird slowly merged, melded, became one glorious dove, whose voice rose high up to Heaven.

And I knew I was dreaming as it watched it rise up and fly home.

Hmmmm...looks like that one may have frightened everyone away?