Monday, April 14, 2014


My journey back from a puddle by her grave has been possible because Morrie Shechtman wouldn’t allow me to die with her. He prevented that desire in me by caring enough to keep challenging me. That I chose to let that happen is why this story is thirty-plus years old. I am forever grateful for our partnership. Throughout these years we have been through many other challenges, losses, and hard times. All this has been easier with Morrie on my side and by my side. He has never wavered from his faith in my value and in me. He is the only person that has hung in with my terrible struggle to recover, year after year, decade after decade. He has insisted over the years that my poems and story can be helpful to others. This is my attempt to fulfill his faith in me.

I chose the casket
To bury my child in

Pink satin pillow
White velvet trim

Her hands folded on her breast
With my heart held entwined

I had to decide
What tomb, metal or wood

How can a mother be reduced
To raw, primal agony and ever get up again?

Strong arms hold me up
Brave hearts help me choose

And because I have you to come back to
I make it through

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