THE STRANGEST SILENCE

((((((((((((((Longo)))))))))))) ~A "What we do for ourselves dies with us. What we do for others and the world remains and is immortal." Albert Pine

(((((((((((((((Joe))))))))))) love and hugs Jayne x x x x

Such a wonderful sentiment is expressed here! Love and loss and all the heartbreak that both entail! Beautifully written!

.... writing something  about your mother as a tree you planted in your heart for her, her tree and  so doing, her spirit had a place to go when it expired as human, and now  inhabits this most beautiful tree, the tree of her life's loves and thoughts, to  shower on you her love, yes in return for all that you have given her, such  devoted love, always there to help and see that she died comfortably, as  comfortably as you could manage to make it for her, just being there was  enough, as now we are for you..... The saints are gathered round the tree we planted for Anna Geremia, her arms outstretched in mornings dew, shine silver in the green leaves hue, the trunk stands firmly planted there, its crown in heavens care, it bark so bold protecting, it twigs so thin projecting, her sighs and moans at night replaced by shouts of sheer delight, when mornings sunbeams warm, and waves its billows so in tact with the grasses of the lawn where hide the crocus, snow-drop, celandine, the jonquil, colts foot, and narcissus white they wait to herald her return to Spring, she comes, a duchess in disguise, drawn by the glint in her son's eyes, they shine a beacon for her path, his thoughts and love to make him laugh and cry, because she's still around to give her hand with Ann, these Anna's two are here for you, they know they understand. And so did she. Our love to you Longobadolino. Annuccia 

I can't speak for your hereditary illness my dearest Joe. I make no claims as to knowing the hows and the whys of life. I can share stories though. It seems most of my life, I was/am a participant in *model groups* as it were. In NJ a woman's consciousness-raising group was established in 1975.. women from all ages, walks of life, intelligence, education, etc. were present and was moderated by a social worker. One day a young woman, no more than a torso with tiny arms and legs in a wheel chair came to talk to us. She was born like that she explained; however, she graduated from college, with a master's degree w/honours. She never had one iota of *normal life*..being bound in a wheel chair... needing attending to for everything. And here she was talking to us about the gift of living our own lives. I took notes, and the moderator asked if she could pass them out for our next meeting. I noticed my discomfort, my arrogance. We all make value judgments on our own suffering. And we can make that the gift we give to the world as she was doing, as you are doing, Joe, as we in Neopoets are striving to do. Making bread, rising to the occasion. Part of a poem I wrote: "You siting in your wheelchair there using words such as: responsibility attitudes decisional critera I can't hear you just yet I am afraid your legs your arms my eyes my ears" Much love, Anna "What we do for ourselves dies with us. What we do for others and the world remains and is immortal." Albert Pine

good choice of words perfect in the mix...stir it up .. Jasfer Kerguelen "THE MOCKINGBIRD"