My hero, my best friend, my Grannio (a.k.a my Grandmother)
She raised me like I was her own daughter from the day I was born 32 years ago.
She loved me like nobody else has ever loved me in my life.
She stood by through the most difficult days I've ever known.
She showed me more unconditional love and support than I've ever imagined.
She taught me how to live, how to love, how to be a lady, how to be a mommy and how to survive.
For 78 years, she had always been as healthy and stubborn as a mule.
About a year ago she stood by my side and fought tooth and nail to help me survive a bitter custody battle and win primary custody of my wonderful two year-old son, who is her only great-grandchild, and the love of her life and my life.
After fighting with everything she had inside of her and seeing me prevail in court, she suddenly became deathly sick. Within days she lost her ability to walk, eat, dress herself, or even get out of bed.
I quit my job to take care of her 24 hours a day. I spent every moment possible at her bedside, talking to her, trying to feed her, bathe her, brush her hair, change her clothes and make her take her medicine.
Finally my uncle, who lives 100 miles away from us, responded to my calls for help. He forced her to see a specialist in his home state.
She spent three months at one of the top hospitals in the country with more than ten doctors trying to figure out what was wrong with her. She suffered a heart attack. She had to be connected to life support. She was forced to have several emergency surgeries to remove a tumor, to remove a blood cot, and a few others to save her life, they said.
My son was not allowed to visit her. She cried a lot. She begged me to bring him. She asked for me constantly. I was told I couldn't visit for various reasons, primarily, because I was too emotional. I called her every day until they took her phone away.
I thought she was going to die.
She gave me a list of things I had to know, like where the safety deposit keys were hidden, where her cash savings was stowed at the house, where the bank accounts were and how much money she had and who was supposed to get what when she died.
I prayed every day - several times a day. I began a nightly ritual with my son, who learned to say "God Bless Ger," when he barely said other more common words, like "daddy."
Somehow, some way, some where, God was listening. He gave me the greatest blessing and answered our prayers about a month ago. The doctors finally identified Grannio's illness as 'vasculitis' and began intensive treatment.
Two weeks ago she was moved from the hospital to a rehabilitation center, just 10 miles from our home. She can't walk and she is just beginning to regain use of her arms, but she's alive. Thank God.
God granted us a miracle by giving life back to my Grannio.
My faith is unfathomable.
Resource Box - © Danielle Hollister (2004) is the Publisher of BellaOnline Quotations Zine - A free newsletter for quote lovers featuring more than 10,000 quotations in dozens of categories like - love, friendship, children, inspiration, success, wisdom, family, life, and many more. Read it online at - http://www.bellaonline.com/articles/art8364.asp
The Treasure of Catalina Huanca (In English and Spanish)
Note: written after seeing the little adobe 16th century church San Sebastian, in San Jeronimo, by the mountains of Huancayo, Peru, after being taken there by the Wandering Quechua guide, Enrique (4-13-2005).
Africa - Wheres The Profit?
A poetic comment that just welled up inside my head ? why cant we just do something ? before many more are dead?
Biography of Charlotte Bronte
Charlotte Bronte (1816 ?1855) Novelist and Poet.
Farewell to Lester Graybill
I never met a man, who could shake my hand, and make my heart feel like a hearth afire.
You Lost Your Last Gamble and Me
I will never think twice nor will I roll the dice When it comes to my life I will take my Grannio's advice
The Dead God of Copan (in English and Spanish)
Article on Poetry and Two Poems
Writing Poetry for Tomorrow
Poetry in a Nutshell
Poetry is more than just rhyming and prose that is in meters and verse. It is an art form. It is something that can not be judged by its cover and can not be critisized to the point where it just "sucks." Poetry is about expression. Poetry expresses the way we feel on a certain subject through imagery and other senses. It helps us deal with our daily problems, be it good or bad.
How I wonder what he's doing as I sit alone at night. How I wonder who he's seeing How I wonder if I'm right. How I wonder if he's ever thought of coming home again, and I wonder if he doesn't can my heart mend yet again.
Mechanical Poetry; Part Two
What do you do when you want to write poetry? I hope your answer is "I start writing." Even writing a bad poem is better than waiting for the "right words." You can always throw it away, and the process has begun. You'll start to find the words sooner than if you had just waited. Here are some more ways to get started.
In the Mountans of Haiti [A Poem: in English and Spanish]
In the Mountains of Haiti
Daybreak at Pikes Creek [a Poem]
Daybreak at Pikes Creek [Summer of 2005]
Ceasar Vallejo: Black Roses [In English and Spanish]
Cesar Vallejo: Black Roses
No one should have to beg or crawl before humanity. No one should have to scheme to procure philanthropy.
Antidotes for an Alibi
Amy King's first full-length collection, Antidotes for an Alibi, insists that we examine the deceptive clarity of our actions and the goals that motivate us. How does one actually get from "A" to "B"-and is there ever really a "B"? What color is the white space between "A" and "B"? Upon closer inspection, surface realities reveal themselves to be porous and fragile, layered with textures and grains that lead the eye on varying pathways. So what are we to do in a world of newspaper narratives that instruct us toward tidy endings, murmuring that such endings are possible and even inevitable?
The Art of Receiving Poetic Critique
You can show your poem to your mom, your spouse, your co-workers, or your friends, but you might not get the responses that you can suck up into your little writing fingers to use in an effort to refine your craft. What does it really mean when someone who cares about you, but not for poetry says, "Wow, this is great. I really like it?"
Uamaks Aquatic [suspense: now in Spanish and English]
Delicately, my mind was selecting a muffled tune, out of the dead dark empty space surrounding me?
It's dark, it's cold, its' just six thirty,
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (a poem in Spanish and English)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (English version)
The Lull of Twilight [Over Mantaro Valley] In English and Spanish
Twilight, was now beginning. As for
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