We Were There

We were there when you took your first breath...
We were there to nurture you...
We were there through your pain...
We were there with all of your joys...
We were there when you learned to crawl and for your first steps...
We were there when you learned to run...
We were there to hold you when you slept...
We were there when you needed comfort...
We were there to keep you warm and to keep you safe. ..
We were there to watch you grow...
We were there to watch you mature...
We were there to guide you in making sound decisions...
We were there as you crossed the threshold of the church...

When you tell me you love me, I tell you I love you more...
When God looks upon us, and we tell him we love Him…
He always tells us that He loves us more.

                                    Shannon R Killman

Winter Memoir by Jackson Killman

photo by Karin Daum Smith

I was looking out of the window, watching the first snow… the ice crystals forming on the window. I gently touched my finger on the glass.

We are in South Carolina, here, we rarely receive the gift of snow. I stepped out of the door and instantly, showers of white sparks covered my hair. I took one quick glance then went in my room and sank into my pillow and sheets. For about one hour, I rested. I awoke and almost instinctively pulled my curtains away from the window. A sheet of white rested in front of my eyes… a miraculous sight.

I gasped, and then I put on shirts, sweat pants, my jacket and a green knit hat. Outside, when my eyes met the frosted trees, a beautiful flash of red hit my eyes… a red cardinal. It brought back memories of my Nana… her favorite bird. Mama taught us to blow it a kiss, and I blew, and kissed Nana’s sweet face.

Down the driveway I raced. In a separate blanket of snow from my sister’s, I make my own little snowman and slipped off my beanie cap. It was the perfect size for him. I called him Kenny. I placed marbles for his eyes and nose and thought he would look better without a mouth.

My sister and I had a huge snowball fight. She gave up when one hit her in the neck. My Mama and Daddy were taking photos all day long. The cold winter winds finally caught up with me. I went toward the door and stopped. Looking back I saw, for the last time, snow everywhere and the frozen trees. I waved goodbye to Kenny, for I knew he would soon be gone. I was going to miss this.

                                                                    Jackson Killman

In the Fields

I love the smell of the grass… I love to see the familiar faces… I love the companionship… I love the smiles… I love the laughter… I love dragging the cooler full of Gatorade… I love hauling the fold-out chairs until my arms burn… I love driving back and forth to practice… I love the sunshine on the warm days… I love the cool days of the fall… I love the clipboards and the statistics… I love the joy of a victory… I love the encouragement in the defeats… I love the parents of the kids on the team… I love the siblings of the kids on the team… I love the noise they make on the sidelines… I love the relationships… I love the hugs of friendship… I love the gossip and the giggles… I love our coaches and our team mothers…

Coach Rob is in the fields every Tuesday, every Thursday, every Saturday game and every Sunday game. He travels with his wife and children out of town to be one of our leaders and to have his own children be part of our team family. His son “Bear” was always with us in the fields… he smiled brightly… he entertained us… he kept our spirits aloft. The first time I met Bear; he walked up to me and told me his name… He said, “I’m Bear, and I’m the kid with cancer”. He smiled through a giggle and ran off with his little brother.

We lost our sweet Baby Bear recently. It was haunting… it left a hollow in our hearts. I was drawn back to the last time I saw him. We were at a soccer game and were moving our chairs into position. Rob asked me if I would tell his boys it was time to get ready to watch. I walked across the field to find Bear bundled up in his favorite blanket. I patted his little shoulder and told him it was time. He smiled his little smile and told me I would have to carry him. I hoisted him up and told him I would carry him around the world if he wanted me to. He patted me on the head and told me he was finally taller than me…

Rob returned to us this weekend and paced on the sidelines as our coach… he cheered the good plays… he pumped his fists with every goal… he smiled as the sun fell across his face. 

I saw him in a quiet moment before the game… in the fields… in his heart… in his soul… and wrapped alone in his memories.

                                     

                                                          Shannon R Killman

Against the Gentle Current

We were young in those summers. Our grandfather was our guide, our caretaker, our protector and my childhood mentor. The summers in the deserts of Arizona were hot and exhausting. We were drawn to the shade… to the air conditioning, to the early mornings and to the welcome sunsets.

My grandfather held my hand while we walked together. He would take me into the arid farmland that surrounded the oasis of his family homestead. His mother, my great-grandmother, raised her family amongst the hustle and bustle of a restaurant and desert gas station. The large, overhanging tin front-drive still echoed the activities that I can see in yellowing black and white photographs… photographs filled with staring family members dressed in suits and straw hats. The men stood stiff next to female relatives… posing near towering cacti or dusty old sedans.

His hands were soft to the touch. Years of working in his restaurant, decades of hand washing and food preparation and serving drinks inside of the roadside Cosmo Café had protected them from the elements. His fingernails were thick and smooth. I would rub my fingers across the flat surface of his nails as he talked to me… I would watch his hands holding his reading glasses. He would close them onto each other and open them up with his thumb. It was a smooth rhythm… entrancing.

I would watch him ready himself for a mid-day nap. He would read any number of paper backed books that could be found in small domino-like piles throughout the house. When he took his glasses off, he would lay his head back and turn his hand over his head… touching his middle finger between his eyes and spreading the other fingers across his forehead. It was always the same…

We would walk to the irrigation ditches that lined the hundreds of acres of cotton fields like the roads of a cityscape. The skies were a piercing sea of blue, dotted with an occasional solitary cloud. The mountains that surrounded the Gila Valley would echo the faint hum of diesel engines that pushed the rolling waters of life from deep wells into the desert. We could hear the quiet clapping of the moving water as it made its way through the V shaped ditches. There was a distinctive aroma in the air of water and the wet desert soil.

He would hold my hand to help me into the cool moving water. The sandy soil would give way under my weight as I slid down the embankment into the water. The pitted concrete was alive with algae that held firmly onto its walls... I would pull at it with my fingers to expose the dark concrete below. There were no toys or floats… no slides or colorful distractions. There was just the relief from the summer heat. Grandfather kept a lookout for animals or snakes that may have made their way into the water… we always kept our eyes focused against the gentle current.

The summer sun would quickly dry our clothes on the way back home. He would scruff up my moppy hair and pat me as only a Grandfather can. I would take his hand and ask him to promise to take me swimming again… the answer was always a resounding yes…

                                                          Shannon R Killman

Need for Touch

Before my heart beat…

Absorbed within… a total surround.

The cold world, but not the hands of love,

A soft cheek, warm was the breast.

The cuddle of slumber, the lips of care.

Remembrance of youth's awkward grasp,

A hug to a friend, a pat on the back.

The embrace of a crush...

Electricity of anticipation

Always drawn toward touch.

The caress of intimacy,

Full and entwined embrace.

The breath and touch of love,

The gift of giving... 

The blessing of receipt.

Full my years, I seek you out.

Look for glimpses of the past… I long.

Without the touch… the warm embrace,

I will die alone.

The cold world once more...

                                      Shannon R Killman

If a Tree

I found myself resting under the shade of a towering oak. It was summer and the heat pulled at me like a sponge. I was drawn to its massive profile… time had weathered its foundations, but they held strong against nature. Time is a friend… Mother Nature has her companion. The oak is patient and strong… host to families of squirrels and finches… forever anchored to the earth. Within me, I do not feel the strength to stay…

I found myself lost in the dance of the willow. It was a day of breathy air and the flowing branches moved together like the strings of a symphony. The tender waterfalls of thin branches stream to the tips of the grass and tempt the appetites of wild rabbits. Movements of dance draw the eye as a reflex… grace is its gift. Within me, I do not feel the elegance of dance…

I found myself stealing the details of the dogwood in the late spring. The evening was cool… a relief from the warmer day. The sun filtered a lacy shade at my feet. Its delicate blooms open to reveal an ancient legend… the cross of old and the stains of life and death. Grace and purity… symbols of a love given to the world. A nervous hummingbird perched as delicate as the kiss of a snowflake. Within me, I do not feel its pureness of soul.

I found myself tracing the patterns in the smooth bark of a crape myrtle. Rapid growth is its signature. Pruning is a call for renewal. Shoots of new growth find their way to the air and to the sky. The crape myrtle is a dependable tree, but a messy one. The leaves litter the ground after a flash of handsome beauty. I spied the showy cardinal twitching high within its branches… filling the air with chirping calls. The puzzle patterns of the peeling bark expose the growth from within. If a tree, and within me, I feel its identity…

                                                                   Shannon R Killman