Firsts and Lasts

I have my first Teddy Bear… it sits quietly on the bed, day after day in the arms of my last Teddy Bear, a gift from my sister-in-law from ten or so years ago. I don’t remember playing with my first little bear, but the evidence falls all around it. The little eyes aren’t as shiny as the day my father placed it into my crib… the arms have repair stitching that have held the cotton stuffing in place and the once soft fur is flat and matted. All in all, I’d say he’s doing pretty well for close to fifty years old.

My last Teddy Bear watches over the older one… most grown men probably don’t admit to the attraction of sentimental treasures like mine, but I for one, am pleased that the two are there for each other when the house is quiet. The kids have added to my collection. The two bears now have pets… two small kittens fall asleep and keep each other company under the watchful eyes of their sentinels.

I was probably about the age of my youngest daughter when I had my very first crush. She was a beautiful blonde girl in my class in elementary school. Her eyes were blue and clear and she wore her hair in pony tails. I don’t know why, but I felt as though I had to chase her around the school yard. I don’t remember ever catching her, although I’m sure I could have… what exactly would I have done if I would have caught her? I used to draw, in crayon, pictures for her and have someone deliver them to her in class. There is only one first crush and it is always the last, first crush.

My grandmother was in her last days… in the eve of her life, and I went to her side. I needed to see her… to touch her hands and to remember her as the younger woman that would lead me into her garden and help me find the perfect, red, ripe strawberry to eat. Summer was her season. It was the season that we got to spend with our Grandparents… I grew from the inside in those years and filled my heart and soul with the experiences with my elders.

I held her frail and thin hand as I watched her drift in and out of sleep that day. I always thought I had complete control over my emotions, but I was wrong. That was the day I truly understood my own mortality. My first experience with the reality of death… and the gifts of life… it was the last time I cried with a broken heart.

There are many firsts in my life… the lasts will follow…

                                                          Shannon R Killman

The Five

I want you to see the things I see. Can you see behind the eyes... behind the confused look of a stranger… inside of the soul of a sleeping child… can you see the faint reflection in the glass that separates the outside from the in… can you see the hidden beauty in the frost or in the rain… can you see the wind as it drags the hopes and dreams of a new season… can you see the future in the light of youth… the youth that will do the things that we leave undone?

I want you to hear the things I hear. Can you hear the purr of an infant as it is consumed within the warmth of its mother’s arms… can you hear the sound of the train that falls through the morning mist of your dreams… can you hear the warmth of the giggles of the children while they play in the quiet… can you hear the leaves of the fall season as they pinball in slow motion to the ground… can you hear the soft call of the dove… the call that has imprinted itself in your memory?

I want you to feel the things I feel. Can you feel my touch in the dark… the touch of comfort or a touch when a moment in time pulls us together… can you feel the glow of a winter fire… it pulls within it, the aromas of winter… can you feel the pride that surrounds me as I watch you succeed in your goals… can you feel a look across a crowded room… can you feel the emotions of a stranger… a stranger that is unaware of your intuition?

I want you to taste the things I taste. Can you taste the warm coffee that fills the house with the aromas of my mornings… the aromas of tall chairs against a farmhouse table filled with the breakfasts of my grandmother… can you taste the salt of my skin… the taste of the labor of my brow, and of the tears of sadness?

I want you to smell the things I smell. Can you smell the sweet grass in the cool nights of spring… can you smell the deep, rich soil that I look for in city streets… the streets that release steam after a summer rain shower… can you smell the joy in the air after the crisp splashes of water from a child’s pool… can you smell the jasmine that gives away its hiding place with every puff of fragrant air?

These are the things of our daily lives… the things worth pausing for… the things we take for granted. These are the details that surround me…

                                                          Shannon R Killman

the Details of our Past

You… You were able to fall asleep under the oak tree in the shade of your youth… in the cool years of contentment. And you… You kissed the cheek of your grandmother as she smiled into your heart… you felt the soft skin of her hand and knew you came from her very soul. And you… You felt the freedom of the wind and the innocence of play… the neighborhood was your world and you knew the comfort and the allure of your home.

And you… You fell in love… a love that takes your heart to a place of secrets… a place that no one else can understand… a place you can go to, to calm your mind. And you… You picked the smallest of flowers and forced the details into your mind… the details that help you to recall the times that time stands still. And you… You took the time to truly know the heart of a friend. You replay the eyes and the laugh into memory. You can feel the anxiety of separation…

And you… You studied your soul to make it right with your God. You took the time to forgive and to understand… and to listen. And you… You counted the years as they flowed like sands through a child’s fingers. They push us like the wind behind the swollen clouds. And you… You made a home… a home that is your refuge… a home that shelters the offspring that will continue in our path… the offspring that will do the things we leave undone…

I saw it in your eyes… I saw it in your smiles. I could feel the power of the sincerity and I could sense the walls that may protect you. I could feel your past as you spoke… and the details of our past found their way into my mind’s eye. I took your memories and wove them into my past… a past that I have as my treasure box. You are the friends that make me, the me that I am.

         

                                                            Shannon R Killman