Jeff McCallum

The hidden wounds of mental illness, the tiny death of failure; we all are relevant to ourselves.

Blessing and Opportunity

I have been fortunate, as so many of the dying say,

To live.

Not well,

For I have issues of misunderstanding;

Neglect to water such flowers as my garden grows,

To grasp, harvest, split and taste;

Savor the sweet papaya that ripens on the vine.

I am fortunate, as so many of the dying are,

To live;

To smell the multi-flowered bouquet of friendship,

Hold a grandchild’s hand; listen to the heartbeat of the night,

Hear a lover’s steady breathing as they slumber by my side,

Glory in the sun, the air, the sound of surf on shore of birds at dawn,

Remember much and many.

I have been blessed, as so many of the dying say,

To live;

And yet, while not ungrateful,

Have issues with forgetfulness;

Suffer fools and disappointment,

Whine,

Fail to savor each day, hour, moment,  for exact and only

What it, they, every breath and heart beat is, are, should

Always be;

Blessing and opportunity.

Fail to murmur thanks or stumble through a prayer

Of affirmation.

I have been granted time and opportunity as so many of the dying have,

To live;

To realize that each and every one is passing on and through

And I at least,

Know the truth of that.