Dear Matisse, Phoenix and Ignatius,
It was morning on the beach
when the flurry of leaves began to tumble and pirouette
from the criss cross boughs of the arbors.
In total silence they landed on the green grass
which resembled a crotchet tapestry
with its dapple of sunlight resplendent across the floor.
I felt the wind pick up and softly caress my cheek
as the sound of the rolling waves
pounded softly onto the shore
and lulled me into a sense of serenity.
I admired the wisps of soft clouds against the blue sky
as though a paintbrush had gently smudged its untouched canvas
and listened to the orchestra of birds
as they glided freely across the water.
But then I realized, “I HAVE a brain tumor!”
The truth of this counsel
breached everything I knew of me
and as I cast my eyes up to the heavens,
I sank down onto the concrete bench
which lined the ocean coastline
and I wept tears of fear.
I tried to find solace everywhere
and in everything.
I foraged through my thoughts
desperately attempting to find the words
of comfort which would help me understand: Why?
I held you in my arms my babies
and as you rocked with me gently to and fro,
we stopped to watch the butterflies dance.
And there it was. My answer!
Presented in natures purest form.
From the protective confines
of its papery structured cocoon
to the delicate flutter of each remarkable moment,
I resolved that like the fragile butterfly,
we all need time to gracefully rest our bodies.
We need to enter our own little caves
in order to grieve and
to take time to evaluate what exists.
So my readers, I have not gone away.
I am just taking time to be present.
and with you.
Taking time to embrace each special moment
we have together and
taking time to prepare for the wonderful journey
that lies ahead for us.
I will always love you.
I will never leave you.
You chose me and I will always choose you.
This is our destiny.