Sister, what will we do with the day?
I’ll hold your hand now, but might pull away,
dare the dusk like my heroes, then run home to stay there.
I’m not afraid there.

But now we’re just out, and the side door swings.
All around us are such fragile things.
I’ll save them all, make them strong, hold them under my wings tight.
I’ll never take flight.

Please.
Breathe.

Another sundown, inside on my own.
Could strive for much more, but I know I won’t.
Some are glad just with sharing what summer has grown ripe,
and TV shows’ light.

So many autumns, so many moons.
Last year’s garden is gone to make room.
Though they wither, never say “no flowers bloomed there.”
You’ll see others soon there.

Please.
Breathe.

We gamble on life (comfort and pain)
for ruin or prize (those are the stakes)
some thieve for and fight (but who’ve I betrayed?)
yet I’ve chosen mine (and what would I change?).

Sister, what will the day do with us?
I don’t know, and won’t worry much.
Though the river’s between us, I feel your touch.

When my brother, a year younger than I, was a young child he used to collect an assortment of bugs in various containers and in his pockets. I tried to empty his pockets before our mom would do the laundry. His collections evolved through the years to glass, rocks and shells we would find along all the Long Island beaches we would frequent together. Later he would collect coins, stamps, and flower and plant seeds for growing. As an adult, collecting baseball cards, books of literature and comic books became his passion.

My brother, Johnny, a gentle and kind soul, died of Covid early in the Pandemic. He was my only sibling. It took me almost 2 1/2 years to be brave enough to go through all his collections. What do I sell and what do I keep? Why am I doing this? Where did Johnny go? Why is he not here? Johnny would want me to find the purpose and the meaning in these questions.

Let me tell you about the day that changed my world.
I went to play volleyball at the Community Center.
While I was on the court practicing, coming through a window enters this young man.
Handsome devil — flat top haircut, “blonde”, t-shirt, jeans, and desert boots.
My first thought was — boy you think you’re something!
He was.
We were married soon after.
For 57 years, 2 months, 24 days.

Mike was always in charge of planting flowers in our garden.

When I think back, I used to yell at him for spending so much money on flowers. Friends and neighbors used to say “I saw Mike today at the nursery” when he’d promised he wasn’t buying any more. Today I took my granddaughter to Longwood Gardens in Pennsylvania to look at all the flowers and I explained that Grandpa Mike always took care of the garden.

I wish Mike could have been with us today.

This was a saying my dad would end every email, every phone call and hug goodbye.
My dad was a gentle, quiet man. Who loved his family. I miss him so much.