Doctors can’t figure
What is going awry
With daddy’s heart.
Won’t beat on time
Rhythm out of whack
Arteries too small
To carry life to his bones.
Time after time
Changing medications
Cutting him open.
Never works quite right.
What the docs don’t know
What I wish I could explain
Is the organ is simply this-
Broken.
The child he raised
Loved with his whole self
Left this place forever.
Daddy’s soul severed that day.
The grief he carries
The literal weight of the world
It’s something modern medicine
Can never explain.
Only time & Jesus
Can heal his heart now.
Tag: writing
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During the pandemical times, I started baking with my kids. I’ve always enjoyed the activity but haven’t spent much time on it since having babies. Baking is in my blood so it was bound to come back around once the haze of sleeplessness lifted.
So today my two children and I cobbled together a chocolate cake. I don’t even love chocolate cake, but my husband and kids do. What started as a Texas sheet cake turned into a two layer cake from a different recipe because I couldn’t find the right pan. By the time I was whipping the butter, my kids had found the lime I had cut up for my tea and squirted it all over each other’s heads and the floor. We carried on and ended up with an ugly but moist cake with a crap ton of buttercream frosting. Chocolate cakes have a proclivity for being dry so all in all I think ours was a success.
Even though baking with my kids is honestly exhausting and messy, I think it’s something I can’t help but pass onto them. I baked with my mom, dad, and Meme growing up. I can still remember making fruit cobbler with my Meme as a small child and wrote a little poem about it here. In my hometown, baked goods were things you made for celebrations and funerals. They’re what you took to church potlucks and birthday parties, and what you brought the shut-in down the street who has cancer. Baked goods are a love language.
Southern Living posted a recipe for blackberry jam cake on Instagram and I was immediately transported to Christmas Eve at my Mamaw’s. I can see the three layer spice cake as clear as day on her antique side board. I can taste the raisins and the pecans crunching together. My teeth ache a little thinking about the thick layer of caramel frosting slathered on top.
Sometimes I feel foolish for all of the hullabaloo baking creates because most people around me are so health conscious- they are barely interested in it. It’s “I’ll take a small piece” or “I’m not eating carbs right now.” I fall into these patterns, too, but I bake anyway. Sure there are healthy recipes for sweets these days and I’ve made a lot of them. Subbing maple syrup for white sugar and apple sauce for oil. The kind of baking I grew up doing and enjoy the most is inherently decadent. Butter creamed with sugar is what you need when your dog dies or you had a baby or you’re celebrating a 50th birthday- not an almond flour cupcake with a light glaze.
Maybe a brownie from scratch or a slab of coconut cake will brighten one persons day or at least make my kids happy. Maybe my children will learn a thing or two about mixing dry ingredients and wet separately and then combining them gently. Or they’ll think back on standing in our small kitchen crowded together eating spare chocolate chips while I whipped the butter.
What is something you enjoy doing that isn’t necessarily productive but important to who you are?
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“So, do you have any siblings?”
A innocent question
Which cuts like a knife.
I panic.
“No.”
“Oh, so you’re an only child?
How was that?”
My heart races.
I make up something
And quickly change the subject.
The guilt of this interaction
Weighs on me for weeks.
Why was I not brave enough?
To claim him, share his story?
After all the people I’ve met
Since he left seven years ago-
Somehow this question
Still does that to me.
Grief is a changeling .
A teacher, a wrecking ball, a friend.
There will always be moments
That shake me to my core.
My prayer is they will guide me
Towards a deeper love. -
The weather really reflects the state of the world right now. It is so cold in Minnesota that my eyes burn and snot freezes instantly upon exiting the house. Every year like clockwork I start scheming how we might move away from this godforsaken tundra. But then, every year, spring arrives (slowly) and I remember why we live here. Right now I can’t even tell you why; the memories are frozen along with the rest of me.
In other news, I have some words for all of my extroverts out there. Where ya’ll at? Can I get a little shout out in the comments? Can we commiserate for a second? Of course, the pandemic has been a shit storm for the entire world. Yet I think there is a specific type of grief for those of us who get energy from being around people. Did ya’ll see the memes and videos about how introverts were actually excited to be forced to stay home and not see people? That was months ago, but those never resonated with me.
I’m sure most of you have seen this video circulating on the internet. It could not more perfectly capture how navigating my social life has been during the pandemic. My natural bent is to be with people; this is me at my very core. It’s not always the most beneficial for me because I do need alone time. It’s just not my first inclination. For instance, on a Friday night – it doesn’t matter how exhausted I am – one of my first thoughts is to see who we can have over for dinner, who we can play a game with after the kids go to bed, who we can meet up with at park. None of this has been possible for almost a year now with the exception of a few summer months where a family or two could gather in our back yard. Oh how I relish the memory of those short weeks. On a weekly basis, I remember my deep desire to host people in our home and the wound is ripped open again. I have to re-learn repeatedly why this isn’t possible right now. I question it, I talk (or rant) about it, I realize all the hurdles it takes to do it, then realize it won’t happen, and repeat.
In the video, this poor lady is just trying to WALK down a sidewalk, a totally necessary and normal thing to do as a human, constantly slipping over and over. No one can really help her because they’re all slipping, too. Though the video is humorous, I felt seen for the first time in a while realizing how similar this was to my current situation. I have been slipping and hitting my behind for a long time now, friends. Almost a year. Lord, have mercy. I shudder to imagine the receipts on relationships and human connection due to this pandemic. Speaking of which, here is a very troubling report by the NYT regarding how moms specifically have been impacted.
In the last week, a special person passed and I wasn’t able to be with a dear friend to help bear that loss. I was not able to hold her hand, hug her neck, sit with her on the couch with a glass of wine, play with her little girl so she could have a much needed break to just lie in bed and cry. The pandemic has stolen so much.
As I was writing this post, this song came on and a specific line really hit me: “Look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now. History is happening…” Obviously this song is about the American Revolution – but it landed heavily on me. In addition to my extroverted tendencies, I also sway towards negativity in my thought process. I am trying to stretch myself right now – to learn how this awful historical event of a global pandemic might draw me closer to God, to my family, to the broken hearted, even to my friends who I no longer see on any regular basis or at all.
I hope you are all okay today, friends. A question I’m thinking about is this: “how do we keep our hearts soft when the world is so hard?” Leave a comment with any feedback. Much love to you all.
Kacie B. Sharpe 