I made it, Mom. I’m a grown up.
Jack (1996), dir. Francis Ford Coppola
Rest in peace, Robin.
"What’s wrong with death sir? What are we so mortally afraid of? Why can’t we treat death with a certain amount of humanity and dignity, and decency, and God forbid, maybe even humor. Death is not the enemy, gentlemen. If we’re going to fight a disease, let’s fight one of the most terrible diseases of all, indifference."
my sanity is questionable. but i know where my life is headed in my walk with God. it is a scary journey and i am holding my breath right now. i pray i will be able to speak eloquently and to not have my words misinterpreted and plainly taken. things are going to be wild and loud and not the way it has been the last few years for sure. what is next. !!!
by Anne Sexton
It is in the small things we see it.
The child’s first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
The first time you rode a bike,
wallowing up the sidewalk.
The first spanking when your heart
went on a journey all alone.
When they called you crybaby
or poor or fatty or crazy
and made you into an alien,
you drank their acid
and concealed it.
if you faced the death of bombs and bullets
you did not do it with a banner,
you did it with only a hat to
cover your heart.
You did not fondle the weakness inside you
though it was there.
Your courage was a small coal
that you kept swallowing.
If your buddy saved you
and died himself in so doing,
then his courage was not courage,
it was love; love as simple as shaving soap.