Space

Sometimes . . .

Sometimes there is nothing to do but write.
I'm helpless to do anything else.
The anger and pain are what she wanted.
Why did she succeed?
Why did she want to succeed?
Why would anyone want to hurt someone so badly?

It's hard to imagine that she won't somehow be reminded of
the pain she's inflicted with some back at her.
I guess she feels justified.
She's already hurt and this is vindication.

But somewhere deep inside I know
that this pain will cost her dearly
it will cost her the trust of her children.

They'll always love her . . . and so they should,
but TRUST? True, genuine, trust
They'll save that for their sweet Daddy.
A Daddy as sweet as my own.
A Daddy whose children will someday mourn his death
and wish that they had had more time because he's
the one that they knew, beyond any limits of space and time,
loved them like no other.

God, please help us all heal and remain
forever dipped in
Love, Love, Love, Love, Love

I don't know how to fix it except
to keep loving and praying.