top of page
  • Writer's pictureMelina Meador


Things leave their marks on us.

While I had a handsome baby boy in November, I still look a bit pregnant.

My Dad survived a heart attack last week but has a nasty, meaty bruise where they fed something cold and serious up to his heart.

The river where I stand looking is bare from winters aggression. I am hiking along its bank in new -and first ever - hiking shoes. I am also wearing a leopard print blouse because time spent in Paris changed me, too.

If I look handled by my last day on earth, I will rejoice for it is how it is meant to be.

That's the tragedy of a child's death, isn't it? That the possibilities of that life went unmet. No marks left on the little mind or body or heart but a very few.

My Grandparents as they passed away were weathered, hand and necks wrinkled, bodies bent. I still remember my Grandpa Gerry's eyes - they sparkled even as his face sagged.

There is a lot that a look communicates, there is a lot of wisdom that comes from life's handling.

Since I've just spent a lot of time with a newborn in the last two months, I can also testify that a new baby's eyes also communicate. Their soul's potential is peeping out at us, letting us know they are ready for life.

165 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page