Monday, February 4, 2008

Good morning !

I am feeling quite upbeat this morning. My son decided to go to school, which for him is a big step; ever since the Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks he decided he would rather stay home and sleep all day. It happened last year too, and it sure is hard on me. I had been without a caregiver for almost a month, but a new one started this weekend. She will be easy to work with, because she is also his teacher in school, and does this on the side. She knows all of his tricks, and is not intimidated by his behavior.

With her presence, I was able to go to my first meeting of The Oxford Artist Guild, where I found out that I sold the first painting in the show we are having right now. If anyone is interested in my paintings, or the announcements of the showings around the Oxford area, please check out my other blog where I list all that is going on in my world of painting.

It was so nice to be out by myself, and not have to continually watch out for the actions of my son....if you let him out of the truck, his favorite activity is stripping every car in the parking lot of its valve stem caps. It is one of his many autistic compulsions, and it is not easy to stop him from doing it, since he has gotten so big.

I was reading over my poetry this morning, so I could post one in the Wet Canvas forum for poetry and paintings. So far mostly I have done graphic pics to go with each one, but I plan to start painting for each one...which should keep me Here is a link to the one I posted: . Mine is the 8th one down on the page.

Here is a poem I wrote a number of years ago; it is one I would like to do a painting for.


As I sit amidst a storm of medical fury,
commands ring out, nurses run to answer,
phones beckon, charts are pulled, tests are run.
Hurry, hurry, and then we wait, and wait, and wait;
when will we know, what will we know?
I sit alone, among many, hearing only my thoughts,
none of which have coherency, or meaning:
oh god, oh god! not now, not this, help me please!
And in the quiet of my heart I hear my daughter's cries,
unspoken, yet screamed from the depths of her soul:
Don't wake me, let me go, mamma I love you! but
her heart hears the cries of her unborn children
the angel of death holds then in his arms,
yet it is her breast that aches for their touch;
her empty womb lies silent and mocking,
a place of death, not life; with each grave
a piece of her soul is placed in the ground.
How to go on, how to live without
these pieces of her very eternal life?
Heaven resounds with her children's cries,
searching for their mother's arms;
how long must they wait for her love,
how long must she wait to ease her grief?
Oh god, oh god....echoes in the night,
rising from the hearts of many, mine and hers;
come back--let me go; the oldest conflict,
and yet the newest, at least this night.
In the bustle and agony of waiting--
will she come back, or will she go?
Only time will tell, only God knows the answer,
and He hasn't spoken, tho' my heart screams;
but it is not heard; we are in an island of quiet,
amid an ocean of noise: sirens wail, red lights
reflect a chaos of other people's pain;
we think we are alone, yet are we? is anyone?

~ susan

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