Lorraine Reguly's Blog, page 4
June 25, 2016
For Victoria
I first met Victoria at bingo about two months ago. She’s young enough to be my daughter, but is now my bingo buddy and friend.
She has a love for nail design, and is on Instagram, showcasing her talents. But her story is a tragic one, as she lost both of her parents within a few months of one another, two years ago, when she was only nineteen. Her brother was seventeen at the time.
She now has two children, is married, and is moving her life forward, trying to be the best mom and wife she can be.
Tomorrow is going to be a hard day for her, though, as her mother, Leslie, passed on from this world on May 23, 2012. Her father, John, passed away in August, less than a mere three months later.
To show my compassion and sympathy for her, I wrote her a poem.
I hope she likes it, and I hope it offers her some comfort. I also wish I was able to meet Leslie and John.
For Victoria
For – and to – Leslie and John
Two lives were changed two years ago –
Victoria’s and Eric’s, as you well know.
Your two beautiful children, not quite adults yet,
Were forced to deal with failing health, emotion, loss, and death.
Tough it was, and still is, because they loved you so much,
Now all they have are memories, guided by your loving touch.
But, as each day that passes, they become a bit stronger
Even though they wish you were with them a bit longer.
But even though you’re both gone, your spirits remain
And, upon your children – over them – your teachings reign.
They also remember your good cooking, your sarcastic wit and your storytelling ways;
And they will always, for the rest of their days.
Disease and poor health are hard to cope with, but dealing with death is even harder to endure.
And even though you’ve been gone from the earth for two years, one thing is sure:
You were both loved immensely by your daughter and son,
And they miss you tremendously, even when they are having fun.
Two lives were changed two years ago,
And today you are missed more than you’ll ever know.
I wish you were both here to see
How, today, we honour your memory.
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Who am I… Really?
Who am I… really?
as I struggle with my identity
I am confused
I want to be free
I want to be me
I want to see
clarity
Who am I… really?
a writer
a mother
a sister
a daughter
a lover
a wordster
a prankster?
a fighter
a right-er
a wronged one
who can i be?
an author?
a loser?
a mentor?
a poser?
Who am I… really?
a prostitute
a drug addict
a rape victim
a teacher
a student
a preacher?
who are you?
are you better?
are you loving and caring?
I am.
and I’m strong.
I’m alive.
I’m NOT wrong.
I am ME.
AND
I write to be me.
I cannot see
the point in pretending
to be NOT me.
I write to be free.
I cannot see
the point in pretending
to be someone NOT me.
I write to be me.
I write to be free.
I write to see.
I write to be ME.
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A Letter and Poem for My Dad
Originally published on Poetry Perfected. Republished here due to moving and claiming my content.
I wrote this a week ago Sunday night, the very night I turned 43, as my dad ended up in the hospital due to a severe illness. Although he is on the road to recovery right now (today is August 25, 2014), I was really scared. I’d never seen my dad like that before, and the reality of his mortality started to affect me. So I wrote him the following, both in between tears and while they fell from my eyes.
Dad,
I’m gonna miss you when you die. I know I’m not a perfect daughter but I always wanted you to be proud of me.
Sometimes I felt like nothing I did was ever good enough for you. Sometimes I stopped trying to please you and began living life for myself.
Sometimes I even hated you, and thought you hated me.
I always feared your angry side. I hated that part of you.
What happened to that guy who used to play “catch” with me?
I used to wait for you on the front step every day, for you to come home from work. I remember I used to get excited when I’d spot your car coming into view, two blocks away. I’d run and scream to Mom, “Daddy’s coming!” and then I’d go back outside to the front step and wait for you to park. You had a gray station wagon back then… then you had a blue one.
I remember annual trips to Duluth and being able to ride in the very back of the car. It was so much fun to be back there!
Those were some of the best childhood memories of you I have.
Playing crib, doing math problems, learning card tricks… those were others.
I love math because of you. I wrote my first good poem because of you. I was so upset, mad, and disappointed that you didn’t come to my university graduation ceremony… but I understood… sort of. Why didn’t you make the sacrifice for me? Five years I worked my ass off, going to school… to make you proud of me.
Yeah, I still resent you for that.
But… I was really happy when I wrote a book blurb for a fictional novel and you said, “That’d be a good book to read.” I was even more thrilled when you read my book of short stories and said I should charge more money for them!
Now you’re really forgetful, somehow smaller, and sick.
Before you die – whenever that should happen to be – I want to tell you a few things.
I don’t want to be the daughter who never got to say goodbye, who never told my dad I loved him, who never told him I cared, who never thanked him for reassuring me when I was scared.
So, Dad, I want you to know I love you and care about you. I appreciate all you’ve done for me throughout my life and I wanted to tell you all of these things while you’re still here and can comprehend them.
I also wrote you a poem. Here it is:
Today I Cried For My Dad
Today I was faced with a sad reality:
my father is not always going to be there for me.
Today my dad got sick – no one knows what’s wrong,
And I shed a few tears when I thought he might not be here for long.
Tonight my dad’s at the hospital, and tears are rolling from my eyes.
It saddens me to think that, one day, he’s going to die.
Even though we sometimes bicker and are often at odds with one another,
He’s the only dad I have, and I love him like no other.
He may not be the greatest dad in the world,
But he’s my dad, and in some small way, I’m still his little girl.
We’ve had our good times, and our bad.
There’s no denying that, no matter what, he’s still my dad.
I’m going to have regrets when he dies;
I know I’m going to be filled with many “What ifs?” and “Whys?”
My dad has never been your typical handy man;
He doesn’t know how to fix things,
But he can make you laugh like no one else can.
He never obtained an education higher than Grade 8,
But he was a great salesman, and always made you believe you were getting a great rate.
He has the gift of gab, and a friendly smile.
He loves to gamble, too; betting was his style.
He is a great storyteller and met many people in his life.
He was protective, too, especially of his one and only wife.
The other day, I took a good look at him;
He was never huge, but now he’s kinda slim.
His hair was grayer and thinner.
His shoulders weren’t as wide.
His back was a bit hunched over.
His arms hung limply by his side.
He seemed like he was defeated, broken, and sad.
I didn’t recognize that stranger;
That guy was not my dad.
Gone was his laughter, his joking manner, and his fight.
His larger-than-life personality was replaced by one that’s slight.
I know one day my dad will die,
And I dread that day.
I don’t know how I’ll cope with his death,
But I know, forever here, he cannot stay.
If I could have one realistic wish before that day is meant to be,
It would be to hear one specific thing… to hear my dad say he’s proud of me.
I am his eldest daughter, after all;
His firstborn child, whom he named.
I’ve never heard him say, “I’m proud of you, Lorraine.”
But our family has never been the type to voice our true feelings, or even hug one another.
It’s sad to say, but that’s the truth, although I sometimes get a hug from my mother.
And with that said, I’ll end here on that note,
Because what I have to say about HER is in another poem I wrote.
But before I go, there’s one more thing I want to say,
Which is I really DO love my dad, and will always miss him in my own way.
I hope you liked the poem.
~Love Lorraine
P.S. I’m also sorry for the many things I’ve done and said that have hurt you and made you hate me, including the whole issue with Jacoby. I know I’m not perfect, I know I’ve done things to cause you disapppointment and anger. But I’ve tried to turn over a new leaf and make a name for myself with my writing and editing business… and becoming an author… so I hope you can forgive me for being a failure in the past… now that I’m on my way to success.
*** I also wrote a letter to my son. I figured that, because he is in the photo with my dad, I’d mention that. 
My Graduation From University Poem, “On This Day”
This poem was written on Saturday, May 29, 1999, for my mother, on the day I graduated from Lakehead University.
I attended LU for five years, after taking four years to complete my high school education.
I went back to school when my son was 7 months old, enrolling in a special program for single mothers.
The reason the poem mentions “nine” years is because I have combined the years I attended school consecutively after my son was born. The picture above shows my mom’s fridge, which still has the poem on it.[image error]
~ON THIS DAY ~
On this day, I stand proud
For soon my name will be heard aloud,
And my degrees will be presented to me.
On this day, I remember the past nine years,
Including much laughter and many shod tears
And, as I stand here, I look at thee.
On this day, I feel your love and pride
Enveloping me from every side,
And I want you to know how much you mean to me.
On this day, I recall the struggles we’ve endured,
But my unhappiness, you have finally cured,
And now it is time for you to set me free.
On this day, I stand here as a graduate at last,
Making your dreams for me a thing of the past,
And, soon, my dreams will become a reality.
On this day, a new chapter of my life will commence –
One which will be based on goals and common sense,
And I’ll survive just fine, wherever I’ll be.
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When I Write
When I write, I love myself
I lose track of time
I forget about watching TV
I love me.
When I write, I feel better
My self-worth is raised
My heart becomes full
I am inspired.
When I write, I achieve greatness
I change peoples’ lives
I elevate their souls
I help you.
When I write, I experience joy
I feel the warmth flow in my veins
To the paper – or the screen
I am exported to another world only other writers understand
But I provide another world to readers
when I write.
–
–
At least I think I do.
Do you?
Lightbulb image courtesy of digitalart / FreeDigitalPhotos.net
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Loving the Unplugged Life
I recently stopped doing something I didn’t like.
Now I’m loving my new, unplugged life.
I don’t have to turn my computer on… unless I want to.
I don’t have to work, unless there’s work to do.
Living the free life is nice.
I don’t know why in the past I had to think twice
About freeing myself, and giving myself an unplugged life.
YOUR TURN:
What do you wish you could change about YOUR life?
Can you do anything to make a change in it today?
What’s stopping you from living the life you REALLY want?
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My Blind Friends Taught Me To See #inspirational #poem
Today’s poem is going to open your eyes. It also carries special meaning for me.
I have interviewed Kerry Kijewski, a blind woman I know. She is a blind writer.
I’ve also interviewed a blind man, Maxwell Ivey. I’ve also helped him publish two books!
My Blind Friends Taught Me To See
I know two blind people: Max and Kerry.
These two blind people have taught me to see.
I think I was blind myself, before I met them;
now a whole new world has been opened to me.
Sighted people take so much for granted.
Sighted people don’t realize how well they have it.
They often forget that there is more to a person than the outer appearance.
When was the last time you judged someone by how they looked?
They say never to judge a book by its cover,
yet that is what happens each and every day.
No wonder blind people feel safer in their homes.
Why should they subject themselves to looks they can’t see?
My friends, Max and Kerry, have opened my eyes.
Max is a sweetheart who has a heart of gold.
He’s a blogger, a business owner, and an inspiration.
Sometimes I wonder where he gets his motivation.
Kerry is a woman who loves writing and travelling.
She uses her other senses to enjoy places she visits.
She appreciates Nature’s beauty in different ways than I do;
I tend to focus on the visual only.
Kerry has opened my eyes to the beauty all around me.
The grey skies I see sometimes dampen my mood.
Now I envision sunshine and warmth raining upon my skin
and I no longer take for granted how easy it is for me to cook food.
Blindness is something most suffer from, figuratively speaking.
Kerry and Max don’t suffer, though, even though they are literally blind.
As I travel forward on my journey in life,
I’m going to be leaving my taking-for-grantedness behind.
I’m so glad I met these two wonderful people.
Max has led me out of my darkness into the light.
Kerry has shown me the world can be bright.
Now, finally, the world feels right.
Thank you for empowering me with your might.
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You touched my life in a special way.
I’ll always rememb...
You touched my life in a special way.
I’ll always remember you, forever and a day.
You taught me well, too.
Do you know how much I love you?
When you left this earth, I was shattered — a mess.
But I’ll always remember you, how you looked, how you dressed.
The closeness we had is hard to find.
I’ll always remember you — you never leave my mind.
You had such an impact on me; more than you’ll ever know.
I’ll always remember that you loved me so.
Wherever you are right now, please know that you’re missed and love.
And know that I’ll always remember you; even though you’re now up above.
YOUR TURN:
Even though I wrote this poem for a friend in pain (she knows who she is), I think all of us have someone in our thoughts that this poem can apply to.
I have at least two: my two grandmas.
Who is your special person? Share in the comments, if you have the strength.
A Friend In Pain
When you see your friend is in pain
due to the loss of a loved one,
Do you share your feelings with her?
Or do you write her a poem?
Sometimes mere words are not enough
to show someone how much you care.
Sometimes you have to go to lengths
beyond words, and let actions flare.
Swear, scream out loud, cry a few tears,
pound your fist, and declare “UNFAIR!”
Cry more, hit the wall, yell again,
fall to the floor, curl up and glare.
Rage and sadness, coupled with pain
will only destroy all the good things
you’ve both worked so hard to achieve
and now you want to give her wings
so she can soar on her own, strong
again, so that she can believe…
though she suffers inside,
you want her to be her old self;
you don’t want to withdraw or hide.
Is knowing you care enough for her?
Can she feel your heart ache, too?
Does she know you’re in pain also?
Will she ever stop feeling blue?
Sometimes a friend is all she needs
to get stronger every day…
Sometimes knowing you’re sad as well
gives her strength to go on her way.
Death, loss, lack of life, lives in us;
She is not always alone…
We all have someone whom we lost;
We all hurt somehow, though we’ve grown.
We’ve all had to feel this way,
at some time or another.
Sadly, death is a part of life.
Whether niece, nephew, son, daughter
Aunt, uncle, sister, or brother,
mom, dad, child, husband, or wife…
Or a friend; a friend ’til the end…
A best friend. A lover. A life.
—————————————————–
Sometimes I don’t write poetry. I feel it.
Today, a friend (another blogger – she knows who she is) was in pain, and I was inspired. I wanted to help her. Somehow, some way.
I don’t know if I did, but I sure hope what I wrote helped…
The tear in my eye says it did.
I hope I’m not wrong.
And I hope she likes my little gesture.
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Waiting
Waiting.
This is something we all have done.
Many of us hate it.
Some things seem to take forever to happen,
kind of like watching a pot of water, waiting for it to boil.
Waiting.
Time passes slowly.
Hearts race.
Stress elevates.
Anxiety becomes your best friend.
What will the doctor say?
Waiting.
Excitement.
Impatience.
You want to rush time.
You are giddy.
You can’t wait to adopt that new kitten!
Waiting.
Hunger pangs become noisy.
You anticipate the flavor of the food in your mouth.
What’s for supper today?
Waiting.
When will your name be called?
When will your time be up?
I don’t know, but
I can wait.
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