Gardenias & Peach Roses

Dying in the hospital bed

Soft skin, ice chips

Lips cracked and parched

Distended stomach

IVs gurgling in and out of veins

Tumors running rampant

Swallowing internal organs for snacks

A five year battle- ovarian cancer

Touching hands, kissing fingertips- Internalized prayer

“God, if you make her better, 

I will take her place.”

Not better

Emotional pain for those waiting

Sorrow

Tears

Monitors blink

Family members fidget in chairs 

Like little girls having to pee

Opting to hold it for as long 

As they possibly can

Last snuggle in the hospital bed 

Your last sweet breath tickling her ears

Death in her arms

Gardenias and peach roses

The funeral was beautiful

Such a beautiful day

Oh to touch your soft skin one more time

Sun so bright

Orange leaves speckle the mountainside

Hazy sadness lurking behind eyes 

Tears rolling down cheeks

Feeling faint

Sobbing, grabbing at arms…any

A peach rose in hand

Puzzled faces as I drop peach roses and gardenias on a cherry wood casket

I’ll remember her

Every time I see a peach rose or smell gardenias on a sunny day,

I will think of her

Jeni McCreary

*Dedicated to my Grandma Joyce, my Mom & my Aunties. No child should have to hold their parent in their arms when they die, but maybe it is a blessing? My Mom is the little girl in the sweet dress.

Anesthesia Fog

I woke in the recovery room 

To the smell of hospital soap and anesthesia

The sound of the beeping heart monitor 

The IV gurgling in my veins

Bleary-eyed I tried to focus on the Doctor’s voice 

He rubbed my hand, “We had to do a hysterectomy”

I gulped, eyes closed, anesthesia lulling me back to sleep

I opened one eye, trying to focus on the nurse, 

“Did I hear that correctly? Did he say hysterectomy?” 

“Yes.” 

I remember turning my head and looking out the window

The sky was cloudy and gray

It was going to storm

Lightening flashed in the distance

My eyes grew heavy once again

I succumbed to the anesthesia fog 

And remembered thinking, 

“But we had already picked your name…”

Ballerina Twirling

Ballerina Twirling

She turned

I smile

Reached for her

Twirling in a pink ballerina costume

Dark brown eyes sparkle, flecks of green

Long eye lashes

Curly dark brown hair falls over one eye

Twirling, twirling, twirling, twirling

Magical fairy wand plays a silly tune

Giggles, laughter

My breath is torn from me

Sitting silent

Feeling alone

Watching my sons

Blinking loudly

Hope dashing

Husband’s sad eyes

Precious pink ballerina not twirling

Not for me

Not yesterday

Not today

Hysterectomy 

Gone

Seek healing

Physical & emotional

Health restored

Love… All of these are mine

Shattered dream

Shattered hope

Magical fairy wand 

Lays unmoved in my lap

I loved you

The dream of you

I love you now

One day I will find you

In my dreams

In my prayers

You will be there

Twirling, twirling, twirling, twirling

For my best friend- to heal the loss of your little girl & the hysterectomy that chased your dream away. One day…One day.

Twelve Years Old

Twelve Years Old

Unlovable

That’s what I’ve believed all these years

I am unlovable

Wall so tall, hard demeanor

No one could possibly love me

And yet

Precious baby girl bouncing in my lap

Her eyes filled with love

For me! 

To her I am her hero, her protector

Her guardian angel

Twelve years old my innocence was lost

Forever altered

Missing something

Missing everything

Questioning all things

Seeking anything

No one heard me?

Who will save me?

I am unlovable

Laughter, friends, uncertain future

Innocent love

Protection, protector

Happy & positive, twelve year old girl 

Shoved in a closet

Bound with rope

She is never getting out

Is she? 

Wanting to be found

Heart ache to mend

To grieve

To share… her story

She has something to say

And yet…

Fear

Quiet cup of coffee

One lump in throat

Mom- I have something to tell you… 

When I was twelve years old… 

Tragic story told… Released 

Mending showed up

Peace

Love

Fear abandoned

I AM loved

I AM needed

I AM wanted

I AM watched for

I AM released

Throwing open the closet door

Twelve year old girl has flown

Rope coiled on the ground

Like a dead snake

Loved

But you have to tell

Your story

And get help

 

Jeni McCreary

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1 in 4 women/girls in the US will be victim to rape, a 25-26% chance in their lifetime. I wrote this for those whose stories haunt me and for those I haven’t met yet… our dear mothers, daughters and sisters that have so much baggage and who have gone through so much. Rape changes a person, fear cripples feeling that you have little or no support. While some may not see their own value I hope one day they will. Their tough demeanor, so hard to crack….simply need to know that they ARE loved, needed, wanted, and watched for. Recognize it now, your value, your future calling you forward.  Throw open the closet door and know… you ARE loved!