Angel of Death . . . from my Memoirs

When I was young, the Angel of Death was always hanging out in my house, like it was his. I could see the draping folds of his long black cloak pass me by like a dark whisper . . . swoosh . . . around the corner of one room, off to hide behind the door of another. I didn’t know what he was waiting for, or when he would finally come out into full view and grab me by the throat to drag me down to the Underworld.  The Underworld wasn’t Hell, you know.  There were no flames, I surmised, since he didn’t have horns and a red jumpsuit . No . . . he wasn’t the Devil, just an ugly relative who had his own dark playground down below.

Whatever the case, he wasn’t there to get anyone but me, I was sure, not my sisters, or my brothers, and surely not my poor father, who was working three jobs just to feed us kids, and not have the landlord throw us out on the street.  Funny, now that I think of it . . . out on the street would have felt safer than in our old apartment. 

There were times when fear just overtook me, and I’d try to hide from that

Demon, thinking I could squeeze into our overstuffed closet and cover myself completely with my Mother’s left-behind wardrobe.  Left behind that night when she stole out of the house with just one small suitcase and ran away into the dark. 

I would try to shrink and become one with those clothes, praying to be invisible, with my thumping heart pounding loud in my chest, beads of sweat dripping down on my lips, and my shaking fifteen year old body ready to collapse. I would close my eyes so tight and cover my ears, waiting for the closet door to creak open, his long bony hands to reach in and yank me out by the hair.  Down, down, down to that place I deserved for yelling that night my Mother left . . . “Don’t you EVER COME BACK!! 

I HATE YOU!!!” . . . and she never did.

It Takes a Lifetime

Move over soon ~ the young need space to grow.

It’s getting time to pass the torch . . .

And you must pass it on, don’t worry . . . you just

have to let go!  And when you do . . . go find your way

to the top of a hill. Stand there and look out far. 

See how your one life has blessed the earth,

this beautiful earth that has been your home.

Sing your song to the wind ~ let it fly wild once more.

Touch the earth with your hands and feel the pulse

of the soft mother under foot.  This has been your time.

In the span of creation, what footprints will you leave?

How many paths have you carved through the mountain

of struggle?  How many trees have you marked so that others

might find their way?

Then come down and walk on the stones you have laid.

Tell your stories and the things you have learned. 

Tell of the Great Spirit who lit your way so many times

through the dark nights, till you finally opened your eyes.

Tell the Young Ones of hope, and the journey, and not to despair

for it truly does take a lifetime to make a human heart.

Joanne Cucinello© 2016

It Comes Again

Disaster

rains

pellets of fear

on the

unsuspecting.

After all, who of us

wants to believe

devastation

is on its way?

Yet, it does come

again and again

as centuries pass

and the winds grow

colder

The earth

is growing old

but she is

bound to us

like a Mother and

her child.

And so, we learn

the truth of

her great compassion

with each survival

and each tomorrow

when

a patch of grass

turns

green again.

~

Joanne Cucinello

2013

This Life

Do not take for granted this life

or this face that greets you

tonight in the mirror.

All that you know and believe

can change in an instant

and be no more.

Do not think you are privileged

even though

you may be greatly loved.

Jesus himself was greatly loved

by the Father and yet

he became the womb of suffering

for all mankind.

We cannot truly, or ever,

understand how love can allow this.

We cannot truly, or ever understand why

we are here on this earth

with such uncertainty

so vulnerable to sin and its thorns.

I myself have seen life change

this day, in an instant

and what was once a stone upon my mantle

shatter and blow away like broken glass.

And so, what shall any of us do with this dilemma?

Continue to live, believing something kinder awaits us?

Love . . . even though these embers will die one day?

Yes, and forgive . . .

Let us not cling to the suffering

Love . . . while this moment is ours to live.

Love . . . even though we may never unravel its mystery.

Joanne Cucinello   

Suzie’s Sister Blue

And she came forth on this

new day

wearing bows in her hair

and bells on her ankles

proclaiming a word . . .

that was simply a lie,

and I believed her . . . .

not because it sounded true

but just because

I remembered

long ago

how much I loved

to hear those bells

and see her smile

and tie the

ribbons round

her curls

and think that she

was mine.

Conspiracy Theory

There is a conspiracy
dark and insidious
creeping on its belly
through the loins of
humanity.

We cannot touch it
with our hands
or see it
with our eyes
but anyone who breathes
must surely smell it
by now.

Can you feel the tentacles
reaching out for our innocent children
stealing their childhood with dark intentions?

Is it still allowed to be a "carefree little kid"?
Do we push and push until their hearts give up?

Are we listening anymore
or just trying to keep our children busy?

Has anyone figured out why ADD is a growing issue?
Attention Deficit Disorder = not enough attention.

Can we still make time to hold
their faces and smile in their eyes
to be truly there for them
when all else is crumbling away
and nothing makes sense or has value anymore?

Are we going to fight these demons
or let them abduct our offspring
and take them into cyberspace for good?

Joanne Cucinello

Possession

Some people are so frightful or evil-minded, beyond all reasoning, that we might think they are possessed by demons.  It’s hard to imagine. But I have seen a different “Possession” take place in these last months, days and hours of my husband’s life.

I must tell you. . . if you’re willing to listen with your heart, that there are people, so wide-open to goodness, that they’ve unknowingly allowed an Angel to step inside their bodies now and then, and use them on earth’s plane, to do unbelievable majestic acts of love.  They sometimes become Possessed by such love . . . even if only for a moment, but those moments are extraordinary, and remain alive in the hearts of those they’ve touched forever.

I have seen Doctors, Nurses, Technicians . . . “Strangers”, respond to my husband with such tenderness, kindness and a sudden “recognition” of his goodness . . . as if they knew they were supposed to, in some small way . . .  love this man.

And friends who’d call or write or walk through our door . . . to love him at just the right time, when he was beginning to see his body change and weaken so much~ that he was feeling quite unlovable.  These were friends who allowed the angels to hop inside and move them past their busy day, to bring some comfort to their slowly dying friend.

But then, there were my grown children and their partners, who for months and days on end, became so comfortable letting angels guide them, that they spent the last few days till his death, selflessly open to the point that they were shining . . . yes, SHINING! The love and care, which took every moment of those last few days and nights, the tenderness and dignity, the cleaning, changing sheets, administering medications every hour, taking turns by my side.  They were almost growing wings! They were so full of love for their Dad and for me~ there was no separation. We were bound together to let him safely leave with the angels, when that golden light left his eyes.  And they flew away so peacefully, his soul’s spirit wrapped in their wings.  The room was silent at 3:33 in the sunlit afternoon when he passed. . . and our hearts were finally lifted.  And that was our POSSESSION~

And the Two Became One

Oh, I knew it would happen one day

but I dreamed we’d die together, like Romeo and Juliette.

After all, . . . how could I live without you, my Romeo?

Yet here I am today . . . just Me, just One of us,

looking at pictures, the two of us together through the years,

remembering your eyes, your smile; wanting never to forget

your voice and how it sounded, when you spoke my name.

And I, so wanting to feel you again, like those times when

you’d playfully sneak up behind me at the kitchen sink.

You'd push my hair aside to plant your lips upon my neck with

kisses, so warmed by your breath, that I’d drop the soap and melt.

Oh God! I was so in love with you!

All these years!  

How do I start to live without you?

How do I become just Me?

Joanne  2018

Me Today ~ January 22, 2018

I can’t write anymore. Trying to . . . is like putting an empty pot into the oven, nothing to cook . . . empty, stuck and fearful to know what the filled pot would look like.  I am resisting, walking up to the altar and quickly turning away, as if I never came down the aisle.  Even now, as I write, my heart is beginning to race.  I’m standing on the threshold, a deep crevice in my body’s earth.  Holding onto a wild horse’s mane, running wild, never stopping, no destination in sight . . . except death.  Almost two years since your diagnosis, and you seemed fine, normal, no pain . . . nothing different except not eating very much, not very hungry, but nothing severe . . . some weight loss, but you could afford it back then.

When we heard the words slip through the Doctor’s teeth . . . “Fourth Stage Liver Cancer! Do you have an Oncologist?  Need to see one immediately!”  Stunned is a gentle description of the double whammy that punched a hole in our stomachs and made our heads start pounding as if we’d been in a crash.  “What? What are you saying? What do we do? Who do we see? What’s going to happen to my husband, the love of my life?  Do we put on some armor, polish the swords, get ready to fight? Fight the hardest fight of our lives!  Will the treatments change him . . make him sick, weak, lost and close to death . . . this Man of mine, who seemed happy and fine, so full of life and affection . . . my Lover, my dearest Friend?"

 What horrible road have we taken you on . . . this Golgotha? And no matter how hard I’m trying . . . to keep you alive . . . I feel so insignificant in the face of your great suffering now.  This cross is hard, so hard to help you carry up that hill.

You’ve conquered many demons in your life, overcome difficult illnesses and heartaches. . . but this one is testing you, testing me, to the point of no return at times.  Stay strong, my Love.  Keep fighting the fight, and know I’m here beside you always. 

What if another Miracle is just waiting to happen, like all the others?  What if we walked together to top of that fearful hill and found the Cross had disappeared?  Then we could roll down in the green grass instead . . . and make love once again.

We Are Dancing the Dance

Here we are now ~ trying to feel the music

trying to find the steps we took so long ago

and that song . . . what was it?

Can’t remember . . . just your arms

around me strong and tender . . . tender still

but strong, my Love, no more.

It is me who’s holding You now

and a new song is playing

teaching us a different dance

moves and turns so unfamiliar

We never saw it coming, did we?

And all the while a storm was brewing

off the coast of Forever ~ whispering our names

warning us to put up the shutters and get ready

Your beautiful eyes are tired now

your limbs so weak, and yet

you smile at me still, with your precious heart

and we’ll hold each other and dance this dance

until one day the music ends.

Joanne Cucinello  2017