The Loss of a Child

I have found a group called M.S.A. on Facebook and it is a second home to me. There are so many supporters for this terrible disease. People know what is happening. I can ask questions about this illness and there are so many hugs.

My first home is here at WP so I feel especially blessed to have such a large, extended family coming from all sides.

My daughter and I were able to speak for a few minutes last night. I asked her questions that I did not understand, and it felt so good to have her take the time to answer me. I don’t always like the answers I am told. I don’t think any of us really want to face that giant wall of knowing we are facing death of a loved one.

Yesterday I learned that another precious adult child was taken to heaven. The mother posted her loss.  The grief that is in a parent to lose a child before they, themselves have taken leave, I would think would be devastating.

My Grandma has lost two of her daughters to God. Each time it happened my Grandma would say the same thing. ” It should have been me first, not them. I am the Mom.”

I can’t say that I know exactly what she is feeling as I am blessed to have my own children with me, but I can feel her pain.

My loss of words could not be spoken to Lucille but I am able to write in word what I feel. I wrote her this poem this morning and I thought, maybe my friends here at WP would like to see it also.

Here it is;                                                                            babybook4AnimatedCandleThoughtandPrayersM.S.A. logo

It doesn’t seem right
It doesn’t seem fair
We give birth to a baby
He is with us every where.
We grow older
He grows up
He brings us smiles
As he sips from a cup.
Our hair begins to gray
He is thriving in school
We tear as he graduates
He has learned every tool.
We settle into retirement
He is told he is ill
We take our morning coffee
While he takes his pills.
Then one day we cry
As he left our arms for God
We stand at his grave
And look down at the sod.
It doesn’t seem fair
It doesn’t seem right
That we are still standing
But he lost his fight.
Written by
Terry Shepherd
In dedication to
Lucille C.


I Want to go Back


I wanted so badly

To grow up

But no one told me

Broken hearts

And falling walls

Could touch me

In places that

Were once virgin

Stretching out my

Arms to you as

You walk by

I touch my baby

I carry within

And I cry as

I see we are over

I want to go back

Take my time

Do not hurry

Start all

Over again

Now I am old

And the child is grown

And I look out

Over the horizons

And wonder if you

Are still traveling

Strumming your

Love songs

That play on  your heart.

Written by,

Terry Shepherd



Picture it & Write/ Ermilia

Jon felt his life was just putting too much pressure on him. He seemed to believe that he didn’t have a life. Pieces of his soul had been ripped and torn; given to others. Every time he tried to connect a piece of the puzzle back together the goal was broken.

He sat now looking down. Using the height of magnitude he was able to see where it started. His parents owned a business. He became their gopher boy. Running errands, fixing meals, taking care of baby sister.

In between these jobs he tried to go to school. Concentrating on learning was replaced by what he had waiting for him at home to complete. He wanted good grades. He dreamed of going to college. He could taste the success of becoming a doctor.

But by the time he finished instructions left for him he was too tired to study. He would fall asleep after his parents came home. He would wake up, drool lying on the pages of his book.

As time progressed and he wasn’t needed for a sitter so much his rules were changed from sitter to driver. He learned about money. He paid bills, he budgeted his parents checkbooks.

One time he even had to barter with the electric company because his parents had let the bill slip by and he was the one who had to make arrangements to get it turned back on.

His gift to learn was his key to him keeping good grades. When his counselor called him in and offered him applications for colleges he quickly grabbed them. When he got home and he had the little bit of time to call his own, he filled them out. The next day he was back in the school office turning his pages in.

When the news came that he had been accepted his heart jumped out of his body. Genuine smiles were seen in each class. He was going to be a doctor. But how was he going to get a way? How was he going to claim his right to live as his own?

When he went to bed each night, he made the time to pray. He prayed for a way to escape. He needed space. Night after night the ritual went on.

The day came. It was graduation day. He walked proudly through the line accepting his diploma when his name was called. He looked out over the crowd hoping to see the glow from his parents’ but only his mother had made time to attend. Even his sister had not made it a priority to show up.

That night holding his diploma in his hand he realized that he had one week before it was time to leave. A new life was holding the doors open for him. His name was on the list. Tugs were pulling at his heart. He needed, no he wanted and desired this opportunity more than anything in life.

When he fell asleep he had a dream. He was sitting below the heavens. Placed on a cloud of success with his name on it he looked over his life and at the lessons he had learned. Determination and not giving up were his biggest teachers.

Now he turned a way. He looked towards the doors being held open for him and the cloud steered him in through the open ways of a bigger and better life. The world was his and he was not going to let it pass him by. He was on his way to becoming a doctor.pictureitandwrite2copy-1


Coming Into My Own

Looking at my reflection


Standing in front of framed glass


Running fingers gently over curves


Feeling blossoms which


Were once only buds


Turning in 360


As a flowing ballerina


Music flowing from the


Keys of my own thoughts


Slender legs so shapely


The eyes see no end


I have come into my own


Whom once was an ugly duckling


Locks of golden curls lying


Ever so gently against milky skin


Today is my birthday


I smile as I lift my dress over my head


It falls smoothly filling each bend


Satan slippers grace each foot


Golden beads hug a touchable neck


Matching dangles dripping from each lobe


I am no longer a child I say to myself


As I look one more time at my


Reflection smiling back at me


It is time, exactly as planned


To enter a new era


Walk through new doors


Experience my first kiss


I must go I hear them


Calling out to me


As I make my first entrance


Shadow of youth following


Leaving it at the door


As a moth becomes


A butterfly


So have I now become a woman


Terry Shepherd




Pascale Hutton wearing Paul Hardy - Heart and ...

Daily Prompt; Perspective/ The Daily Post

Do You Really Want to Hurt Me

Daily Post


Write about the last disagreement you had with a friend or family member — from their perspective.

I don’t know about you but the only people I disagree with and try so very hard not to get into arguments are with my children. Isn’t is a sad thing? I hear that families disagree more than any other unit out there.

My kids they really love me and they are not afraid to voice their thoughts when they see me heading towards murky waters. I realize that they know me pretty darn well. I understand that they want the best for me. I have even heard them tell me they want me to be happy.

It is actually the best thing about having children in my eyes. They may not come visit near enough in my book of rules. But they are the cat’s meow in my life. Showing me unconditional love.

I absolutely hate it when we tar and feather each other. Like chickens we peck at each other trying to sway us that they are right and I am wrong. Our beaks hurt each other and leave small scars beneath the surface.

I get both sides. They are the children wanting the best and I am the mom. I have made it all through my life with the only boss that really made me listen were my parents. I have gone through marriages and divorces and am still standing.

I have dealt with so much crap with my brother that I should only be found by using a fork lift and sifting through the manure. So it only makes sense that my children realize my  pain and  grief. They want to take care of me from a distance so to say.

They don’t live with me. They do not see what my eyes do. Nor do they hear what I hear. None the less it is awesome to know that they love me enough to throw their two cents in. If they ever quit doing this I will be worried for sure. Silence can mean lack of caring.

I just wish the poisoned darts were not tossed at each other. We are all sharp shooters never missing the target. We each know exactly where to throw those darts that will cause the biggest pain. They aren’t really trying to hurt me. They are trying to do what they can to wake me up to what they are trying to express.

Being a mother is not just giving birth. It is to include changing dirty diapers, pacing the nights trying to calm a crying baby. Feeding and doctor’s appointments. Educating and nurturing. You have a big party when you watch them walk to receive their diplomas.

In a way that is only the first couple of stages of having a child. When they are grown and move out of the nest they still need you. It is just in different ways. They need and have the right to know that parents still love them. Realizing that we would lay our lives down for them in order not to have them hurt as we were.

But in the end after all the love is shown and tears are shed together, the ultimate hurt is the disagreements. But we have to go through these moments in order to keep growing in our love for each other. I love ya kids!!!!!!!

Daily Prompt; Cliche / The Daily Post


Clichés become clichés for a reason. Tell us about the last time a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush for you.

When is the last time I felt like my bird in the hand was worth two in the bush? I really don’t know. Lately, I have not felt like I was the smartest pea in the pod. I have been dealing with massive amounts of paper work for my brother. Trying to understand the hidden meanings of government words.

Trying to abide by all requests and then discovering even more was wanted or needed. You know life seems so easy until you start looking at blank pages. You get out your dictionary and look up uncommon words. You try to make whole sentences down to one simple thought.

I guess the bird in the hand for me is the medical background. I may be in the dark room filling out paperwork by candle light, but when it comes to how patients should be treated my little bird tells me that certain things are not acceptable.

There are times when families come together and discover they have met the end of the road. All that is seen in the future is big boulders placed in the path. All uneven, no way of knowing how to get around them. The end result; placing Grandma or Grandpa in a skilled facility.

Oh the guilt that pops up  is horrendous. A smack in the face when we realize we are no longer going to our families homes for dinners or Easter egg hunts. No more family Christmas‘s like there used to be. Did we do enough? Are we making the right decisions? It happens to a lot of us until we work through it.

Did any of us know that life was really going to change this drastically as our age progresses? I don’t think we make it a priority to sit and ponder on it. We get wrapped up in our own lives, not because we are cold to anyone, but it is what it is. Paying bills, getting our kids through school, working our fingers to the bones to put food on the table. Trying to get our 401K’s big enough to take care of us when we hit the golden years.

Then the bomb drops. We get a medical problem that wasn’t on the schedule. A brother or sister or Grandma or Grandpa gets really sick. We go in with blinders to the nursing facilities. We go in with confidence because we know our loved one so well.

Without our approval we are thrown papers and stacks of blank pages wanting our signatures. All of a sudden the tornado is spinning as we are slowly but not entirely giving the care of our loved ones into strangers hands.

We find many times we are talking among ourselves about decisions that have been made. What do you think Auntie would think about this if she could speak for herself? I know that Grandma is used to taking her showers on Saturday mornings first thing after breakfast. Do you think she will mind having to wait until Saturday night right before bedtime. Hey we all know how much Grandpa hates mixed vegetables. Did you see that big helping they gave him for dinner last night?

Many new doors are opened and suddenly we realize so much that we took for granted; information that we have known for years, no one else is aware of.

I am thankful for the years of experience I have gained. I have taken care of dying patients, family and Hospice. I have taken care of disabled and the geriatrics. I have come face to face with hitting, spitting and plain old-fashioned confusion.

I didn’t realize at the moment that I was building a huge book of etiquette for the human soul. Kindness and respect along with dignity are I believe more important at this point than ever before.

Don’t put your loved ones in a new home setting thinking you can leave and everything will be alright. You can pay your weekly visits and leave thinking what a nice visit. Remember back to when you had your own children, or maybe back to a younger time when you babysat for money. What was the adults highest regard while you were caring for that child? What was your biggest concern in raising your own children?

We need to go back to those times and remember them. Write them down, stick them in your memory box, tie a string around your finger. I am so grateful for my experience. Now I can quickly see when things are not right. There is a huge difference in making sure someone is taking their medications and eating and then mixing in compassion and love for a human soul who has the right to dignity to the last breath.

Daily Prompt; Seconds / The Daily Post


Describe the most satisfying meal you’ve ever eaten, in glorious detail.


There was a time many moons ago when I was very ill. I had hepatitis. It stayed for a while and then I had my first child. Months later it surfaced again. My parents had to take care of my child for almost a year while I tried to heal. Finally that day came.

About three years later I wanted to have another child. My wants and it happening didn’t happen so quickly. The hepatitis had damaged my liver and my gallbladder. I got sick again and continued going to the doctors so many times I can’t even remember the count.

The problem was the doctors were trying to heal me from the hepatitis but at this time that wasn’t the problem. It was my gallbladder. I was so sick that I would go to the ER for shots that would knock me out for 24 hours at a time. I was so ill that I couldn’t keep water down any longer.

At this point the doctor admitted me to the hospital. I had seven tubes running into my body to keep me alive. I don’t remember what test it was that finally detected the rotten gallbladder but it was almost  too late. I was dying.

The doctor tried to reach my parents, but they were on vacation miles a way. My grandmother became my fill-in mother. She was with me at the hospital every day. The doctor came in to tell me that they could not operate on me. He could not remove the gallbladder. It was too full of poison.

He took my grandmother out in the hall and told her I didn’t have much time left. I was going to die. My grandma told me this later after I was better. Every hour on the hour nurses came in and flushed out tubes. I was fed through IV’s. My stay in the hospital was 21 days and it was spent ridding my body of all the toxins.

I was eventually felt  better but they still could not take the gallbladder out as I was too weak. I went back in the hospital about six months later and had it removed. Only after it was removed could I consider having another child, which I was granted that wish.

After being dismissed and going home I was very weak. My mom and grandma would bring me food every day. The best food was the home-made chicken noodle soup my grandma made me.

It was a golden-yellow with tender cut noodles that she had made herself.  Small pieces of torn home-grown chicken surrounded the noodles. Spices were added to enhance the already fabulous flavor. The broth had the most awesome taste. I wanted to let it linger in my mouth and not swallow it. I made each bowl last as long as I could and I would beg for more when the soup pan was empty.

I believe that this wonderful soup helped to heal me. I will never forget the taste of this soup. Even today after years gone by, I can still smell it and taste it.