Monthly Archives: August 2015

Hear Blessings Drop their Blossoms

Gold soldered cup Dicklehman

 

The great Sufi poet Rumi wrote,  “Hear blessings drop their blossoms around you.”  In the past few days I’ve been hearing blossoms all around.  Ironically, it’s happening as I am trying to de-clutter my home office.  Never easy, because I’m finding treasured letters, notes, emails…often kept for years. Such kindness comes from friends, family, even strangers I’ve met on book tours…clearly soul gifts.  So, I stop and reread these blossoms.

IMG_0487

One that stunned me again with its beauty came from Lynn Liebert Caruso, a marvelous poet and published author, who wrote “From Pieces.” The daughter of a close family friend, she grew up with Krista, and saw our hearts shattered at Krista’s death while volunteering in Bolivia.  She knew of our trip to Bolivia with Aaron (Krista’s husband) to help him close their one room adobe home in a remote village, and the healing we have found in creating gardens and the Krista Foundation for Global Citizenship.

 

She drew on the image of the ceramic cups that ancient Japanese monks kept as one of their few possessions.  It has been told that, centuries later when one of these cups was dropped-shattering to the floor, it was not discarded.  Instead, it was repaired with gold solder.  The repair made the break more prominent, but also gave the cup a new beauty.   Her sensitive gifts with language offer blessings to many.

 

 

 

From Pieces

 

When the call came that your daughter had died.

That the bus left the road and fell to the valley floor

below.  That her husband searched the Bolivian hillside

to find her in the black night.  Then walked on alone.

 

 

Your cup slipped.  Shattered.

 

When you buried her beside a statue of St. Francis,

beneath stories of love and life lived richly.

When you mourned the daughter you had known

in your womb and feel, again, those first kicks.

When the dogwood bloomed that spring

and you realized great loss lives in the same

house as great love.

 

You knelt to gather the pieces.

 

When you traveled to her home in that mountain village,

and hiked to the ravine where she died.  When you set

flowers on the scar–carved deep into the earth

by the falling bus and knew this would be a wound

that would always show.

When you knelt where her body

might have lain and wondered what she last saw–

the sky of stars, her husband’s wild eyes, black night?

 

You worked to match the shards.

 

When you met the old woman who took your place

to dress your daughter’s broken body.

When you sprayed her mud home for scorpions

and the villagers came weaving their stories of your

daughter’s love for the cooperative,

for the children, for the God of tarantulas.

When you knew that she would choose to live on.

 

You warmed the gold solder and poured it in the open places.

 

When you returned home to find the grief was so

deep it held you to your bed and your keen rang on.

When you finally stood and said,

Weeping Cherry, a gift

Weeping Cherry, a gift

then filled the hillside behind your house with peonies

and cherry trees and found that with your hands

you could make things live.

 

You held the pieces till the solder cooled.

 

When you started a library, and a foundation that

sent out others in her name.  When you learned that burrowing

into the grief that buried you, there was a spring called love.

And it was deep.  And it would never dry up.

And drinking of it gave you life.

 

You rose and passed the cup.

Poet, Lynn Liebert Caruso

 

Lynn so beautifully captures the essence of the deep spring of love that lives forever in a parent’s heart.

 

Thinking of you and hope that Rumi’s image will give you pause to hear all of the blessings given each day whenever you see blossoms fall.  

 

 

 

 

 

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About Linda
For everyone, life sometimes brings shipwreck moments.

Ours happened when four friends woke us one beautiful May dawn to break the news that our 25-year-old married daughter Krista had died 7000 miles away while volunteering in Bolivia. Our hearts shattered, much like the shards of her bus that plunged over a mountain cliff.
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Desperate. Determined. Unwaveringly confident. In 1896, a Norwegian immigrant named Helga Estby dares to cross 3500 miles of the American continent to win a $10,000 wager. On Foot. BOLD SPIRIT: Helga Estby’s Forgotten Walk across Victorian America introduces readers to this fascinating journey of an audacious act of courage and love of a mother trying to save a family farm.

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Support for Parents

+ Alliance of Hope for Suicide Survivors On-line forum and website www.allianceofhope.org

+ American Childhood Cancer Organization (ACCO) (Formerly Candlelighters Childhood Cancer) www.acco.org

+ Compassionate Friends www.compassionatefriends.org

+ First Candle: www.firstcandle.org Support for Stillborn and SIDS deaths

+ Loving Outreach to Survivors of Suicide (LOSS) www.catholiccharities.net/loss

+ MISS Foundation (also in Spanish) www.missfoundation.org On-line support groups : Infant & toddler death and advocacy

+Parents of Murdered Children www.pomc.com

+ TAPS: Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors: www.taps.org 1-800-959 3277 for survivors of military deaths