sweeping down
across Continental Divides
things begin to die
things are reborn
in time
hopes take flight
hanging on
the tiniest of threads
cottonwoods shake
from the slightest breeze
sending catskin
to dance
weeping willow hanging so dread
wrapping those lost in its arms
a mother misses
more ground
than time left
faces seem blank
as eyes close to dream
as small hands reach
for new life
on winds of chance.
Anelisa Diane Dillion
March 1st, 1986 - July 14th, 2000
She was my chance to dance on the stage of beauty...
(BTW, this poem is evolving over the course of days; until Saturday, then I move on. Moving on is what it's all about in healing.)
James father adored her...my parents, already heavily aging from a rough life really had little time (also, their own request) with her. It was too emotional for my mother with her mental illness to handle the idea her granddaughter was not going to live with heart disease. Anelisa was like a porcelain doll until the age of five, after her second and third surgery, Dr. Nikado had her more oxygen to grow with the new shunts; it allowed her to walk and explore more.
We take breathing for granted...having Asthma all my life and my own heart disease, I never will.
The tale of the purse...she carried one everywhere she went, and would ask me for lipstick so she would have something in there. At this time she had grown in height, but her body was still somewhat baby like in form. I miss her hugs...
