Author Mike OConnor: Fading tail lights

Author Mike OConnor: Fading tail lights:       The damp, cold air found its way into my entire being. I pulled the hood over my head and began the two-mile walk to town. The cold m...

Fading tail lights

     The damp, cold air found its way into my entire being. I pulled the hood over my head and began the two-mile walk to town. The cold mist soon turned to drenching rain, seeping into my shoes with every quick step I took. Not a single car seemed to be on this road tonight, but then who would want to. If you were a resident, you were already safe and warm inside your house and to be truthful if you weren’t living there well let’s just say it gave new meaning to the words "Whistlestop."

     By now I was all but freezing. My hands thrust deep into my wet pockets only escaped the bitter winds but still had little feeling left in them. My feet soaked, and cold tried to keep up the pace, but I feared they wouldn't carry me much further. Funny how at times like this my memory fades back to the time I was walking home from school after missing the bus. It was the dead of winter and everything that could freeze did. I had a warm jacket, gloves, and rubber snow boots but the freezing cold found its way to me and time began to slow with each step I took. I saw myself laying in a frozen ball alongside the road never being discovered until the spring thaw.

     I was numb now, each step an effort on my part to reach my destination where warmth and dryness were waiting. I had walked over a mile by now, and my only companion was the sound of the rain hitting the empty street. Was this to be the way I left the world? My hope was fading fast now as the reality of my situation sank in. Then out of nowhere a car approached and stopped. I managed to turn my head seeing out the side of my hood and heard the words to get in quickly. It could have been a serial killer for all I cared, the car meant warmth and life.

     It wasn't a resident of the small town I lived in or anyone else I knew. Just a passerby trying to do a good deed for a stranger in a bad situation. He offered me some hot soup from his thermos which I greatly excepted. A cheerful young man wearing fatigues with airborne patches, telling me he was on his way to Fort Dix to be shipped out to the front lines. His second tour of duty he said smiling more than I would be in his situation. Not many more words were spoken between us, as I had reached my destination. I watched as his tail lights faded into a curtain of rain and the unknown. At that moment I was ashamed of my own worries about cold feet and lack of any warmth. I stood in the bitter cold watching until the red dots of his tail lights vanished hoping someone would stop and help him if he ever needed a hand. Wherever that may be.

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Author Mike OConnor: Spirit world

Author Mike OConnor: Spirit world:       I often think about the people I have lost. Friends, family, some too young while others who lived full lives. I take the time to rem...

Spirit world

     I often think about the people I have lost. Friends, family, some too young while others who lived full lives. I take the time to remember them as my life continues with many unanswered questions. I believe spirits of those gone are never indeed gone but come to visit occasionally checking on us and maybe secretly telling us to carry on or make some changes. Last night I had such a visit, but it wasn’t as peaceful as I remember other times.

     I was in bed sound asleep when I felt a hard push on my shoulder. It was as if someone had broken into my house and wanted me to wake up. But no one was there. I shrugged it off and fell back to sleep. Then out of nowhere, I was being hit on my leg, a hard hit as I woke up looking around the room for someone, but nothing. Was this a spirit full of playful pranks? Was it the spirit of a past owner of my house? Whatever it was, it was very real and unnerving. I was almost afraid of going back to sleep, but then I wondered if all of it had just been a dream? Can’t answer that because, to me, it was very much real.

     I have had visits from a grandfather I never knew, and a grandmother who was my best friend growing up. I have had visits from my first girlfriend who passed away very early in life. I have had many experiences with visitations from spirits who couldn't let go of personal possessions that filled the shelves of a thrift store I owned a while back. So, you see, I do believe in the spirit world and take it quite seriously.

   I had always thought that someday when I pass on, I will roam the spaces I once walked and pay a visit to the people I cared for when I was alive. I think I would be a friendly spirit that enjoyed scaring some and soothing others. I see myself with wings and able to go anywhere I pleased. I see me speaking to the children in a voice only they could hear. Never scary just a teaching voice. I see myself paying a late-night visit to a certain few letting them know I was there and threatening to return if they didn't shape up. Yea, I would make a good spirit and hope that day comes a long time from now.

     Sleep tight

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Author Mike OConnor: Its all good

Author Mike OConnor: Its all good:       He slowly gets out of bed, sitting on the edge for a few to let the blood circulate and the spider webs clear out. Its another day ...

Its all good

     He slowly gets out of bed, sitting on the edge for a few to let the blood circulate and the spider webs clear out. Its another day and he gives thanks for being a part of it. Rising, he does his morning business and looks in the mirror at the weathered old person he has become. Years of working in the Florida sun has left him looking much older than his sixty-five years. He rubs the stubble on his face and decides he won’t shave today.

     Mornings to him have always been special. The smell of coffee brewing and the silence just before the storm of worker bees head off to their jobs, school, doctors’ appointments, life. His was a simple life with his busy days spent painting houses enjoying the pace he chooses to go. No boss, no timecard, just the strokes of the brush and the feeling of pride when he finishes.

     As he loads his supplies and equipment into his trusty old truck that he bought twenty-five years ago, he takes a minute to look at the house he just finished. The owners were happy and even gave him a nice tip. He smiled and waved as he left for home. On his way, he made his daily stop at the bar he couldn't pass by. A nothing fancy watering hole with the same faces and music from one day to the next. He drank three beers than left without saying a word except for a thank-you to the barmaid that took over ownership after the old owner passed on.

     Dinner was in the freezer and took six minutes to heat up. He used those minutes to shower and collect the mail which he would read with dinner served on a tv table in front of his comfortable chair. He had a thing about seeing the world news every night and worked his painting schedule around it. The distance from the job had to be timed as was the three beers he had before going home. He got quite good at the time thing, and when the bell tolled six, he was in his chair, dinner in front of him and his favorite news anchor filling his mind with all that is news.

     He clicked the tv off after the news, read the mail and went outside where he took a seat on the front porch steps watching as the worker bees passed him by on their way home to wife's, husbands, homemade dinners and a slice of apple pie. The sun was all but set when he went back inside and opened a book he had been reading for a while now. It captured his imagination and added to his life in its own way. Tired now, he sat on the edge of the bed and gave thanks for giving him this day, a good day, a day he could be proud of. 

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Author Mike OConnor: Dont let go

Author Mike OConnor: Dont let go:       “Don’t let me go grandpa." The air was warm and the water cool. It was Saturday, and two of my grandkids were paying me a v...

Dont let go

     “Don’t let me go grandpa."

The air was warm and the water cool. It was Saturday, and two of my grandkids were paying me a visit. I believe I was the second reason they wanted to stop by. The pool was calling them. I had taught the oldest of the two how to swim years ago. I would hold him upright and tell him to move his arms and kick his feet all the while him telling me he couldn’t do it and please don’t let him go. He eventually got it and has become a great swimmer.

     Now it was time to do it all again with the little guy. With his swimmies on and goggles in place, I cradled him in my arms and spoke the same words I spoke to his brother several years ago. I don't think he heard my words over his own as he started yelling "Don't let me go grandpa" "Please don't let me go" We practiced until his will to swim left, and I took a well-deserved breather.

     The weeks passed, and with each visit to me and the pool, he improved. On one such visit, he proudly showed me how he could swim about ten feet all on his own with a little help from the swimmies, and life preserver around his belly. One hand on the edge of the pool and his big brother coaxing him on. Oh well, there would be plenty of time to ease his fears of sinking to the endless bottom of the pool as his brother remembered being in his exact place yelling, "Don't let me go grandpa" "Please don't let me go."

     I caught the older boy looking at me as I watched his baby brother try his hardest to be just like him. He smiled at me and said, "Thanks grandpa for never letting me go." 

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Author Mike OConnor: Books

Author Mike OConnor: Books:      As I feel time that has passed, I know somewhere along the way I left parts of me to be discovered. The written word of my memories...

Books

     As I feel time that has passed, I know somewhere along the way I left parts of me to be discovered.

The written word of my memories high up in a cloud waiting who knows how long to be seen and pondered.

Simple words in a high-tech world that may sound like wasted space, taking up bits and codes that promise a better tomorrow. Really?

It will take someone who believes he has a soul. Someone who was taught about emotions and feelings of the heart. He will see my words like a history lesson, and he will soak those words up and retain them.

Dusty books will be keepsakes, but few will ever smell a book, or flip through its pages. Most won’t know the feeling of fulfillment knowing those words are now a part of them, of their memories.

We are a nation of readers that’s true, but technology has taken something away as well as given us great gifts. Tablets, I phone, and who knows what down the line? But nothing can really take the place of a real honest to God book.

Laying next to your child and reading a bedtime story just isn’t the same when you can’t turn the page or allow them to. Seeing the expressions of excitement waiting for that next picture or verse that eventually puts them to sleep

Don’t get me wrong, I know technology is here to stay, but machines are cold and without a presence.

As I feel the time that has passed, I remember the times yet to be. I keep the dust off my books and set them around different places in my house, where little hands can pick one up, maybe chosen by its bright colored cover, or a catchy title. I smile as I wait to hear the words, "Grandpa read this to me." 

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Author Mike OConnor: Molding a life

Author Mike OConnor: Molding a life:       He looked up at you with a smile on his infant face, and your heart melted. You had such dreams for him, unlike any other dreams. Wou...

Molding a life

     He looked up at you with a smile on his infant face, and your heart melted. You had such dreams for him, unlike any other dreams. Would he grow to be a football star? Maybe a doctor? Would he dedicate his life to helping others? You taught him to play catch and took him fishing watching his expressions as he tried to reel in a big one on a mickey mouse rod. He was your life when he was young. He cut the grass with a toy mower as you followed behind. He hammered plastic nails as you built him a tree house. He was with you every morning as you shaved, and he pretended to……

     You taught him to drive and worried yourself sick every time he left the driveway in his first car, wishing he was younger again. He believed in you and copied your ways. Some good, others you hoped he wouldn't. There were times he took a sip of your beer and made faces asking why I drank something that tasted so bad? You told him he would grow to like it. A seed you planted wishing you could dig it back up.

     He got older as did you and friends took your place. He drank and did other things just like you did. He saw you as an example and not the worried father who looked into his infant face wondering what he would become? He's all grown up now and living a life you helped mold. You sit for hours looking at pictures of him, so innocent and young and you pray he has learned something from your mistakes, but the reality is he did learn but chose to be like you until the day he realizes you were far from being the perfect father, but you were there……

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Author Mike OConnor: Where I need to be

Author Mike OConnor: Where I need to be: There are no more tomorrows if I’m called upon today    I won’t have time to say goodbye ill just be on my way. Please don’t shed a tea...

Where I need to be

There are no more tomorrows if I’m called upon today   

I won’t have time to say goodbye ill just be on my way.

Please don’t shed a tear for me I’m happy as can be

I’m with the Lord my god at last who loves me endlessly.

I know that this was sudden not really what I planned

I went to sleep and said my prayers then took his gentle hand,

I got my wings and took to flight soaring high above

Making sure they live their lives deserving of his love.

There is no time in heaven, no pain or sadness too

Just light and constant knowledge of God's love for you.

So please don’t shed a tear for me, I’m where I need to be

Watching over those I love for all eternity

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Author Mike OConnor: Irish love

Author Mike OConnor: Irish love:       A wee little man with a hat of green and mischief up his sleeves Walked the streets of everywhere trying hard not to be seen He h...

Irish love

     A wee little man with a hat of green and mischief up his sleeves

Walked the streets of everywhere trying hard not to be seen

He hid a pot of endless wealth beneath a giant tree

Where rainbows start and sometimes end with things you never see

He came upon a red-haired lass her tears were flowing fast

She wondered if the lad she loved, truly loved her back?

It's said that some will see the pot as full as it could be

But hearts that beat forever one will see it quite empty

It's like a pot of Irish stew that simmers until it's done

But all stews start as empty pots until you add the love

He told her that a love was true if two hearts beat as one

But if the love was just by one, then she should surely run

Run and touch the rainbow as it kisses mother earth

Then take the pot and show to him exactly what your worth

If he says he loves, you as he sees an empty pot

Grab on to him and don't let go, his love cannot be bought

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Author Mike OConnor: My Springs

Author Mike OConnor: My Springs:      I remember the sights, sounds, and smells of spring growing up in beautiful upstate New York. After a cold and gloomy winter that fir...

My Springs

     I remember the sights, sounds, and smells of spring growing up in beautiful upstate New York. After a cold and gloomy winter that first day when the temperature went above fifty and coats, boots and gloves came off, replaced with a flannel shirt and a baseball hat that had been hanging on a hook all winter long. Tiny buds of green poked through the unfrozen earth promising a burst of colors that were so missed. The naked trees were filing with leaves that would soon shade you on hot summer days. The last of the dirty snow washed away, and all of Gods artistry would soon brighten everyone’s day.

     Springtime meant getting the boat ready for the short season so getting an early start was essential to all skippers. My dad had a beautiful twenty-five-foot cabin cruiser which he kept covered in the boatyard until those first fifty-degree days showed themselves. Walking into the yard, I smelled the paint and varnish as dozens of boats were prepped for the water. Sanders could be heard everywhere like a bunch of hornets buzzing non stop until all areas had been sanded to a smooth surface ready for sealants and paints. It was a labor of love getting a boat ready, and I carried that tradition on in my later years.

     I loved the woods in the spring of the year. New life was all around me waking to a new day and lessons taught by the mothers of the animal world. Squirrels, rabbits, and countless birds took over the silence of winters woods, filling the air with chirps and songs from high atop the white birch trees of my beloved forests. When the snow was melting small streams ran through the woods, a place we would build small boats out of tree bark and send them downstream to end up a place we would never know. We sometimes wondered if they would end up going all the way down to the mighty Niagara river and over the falls?

     I love all the seasons, but spring was and is my favorite. A time for birth and anticipation of warmer days when we would venture to the river on our bikes and swim in the cold waters of the river never really knowing or caring about the dangers we faced. Most of us learned to swim by being thrown out of a boat, me included. I remember my dad saying, "sink or swim" and although I know he wouldn't have let me drown, I quickly recalled the lessons in the school pool and swam like a fish. As teenagers, we braved the small rapids a couple of miles upriver from the falls. It took a strong swimmer to claim that rite of passage.

     When I go home for a visit, I always take the time for a walk in the woods, a visit to the rapids and a brown bag lunch on an old wooden picnic bench at the marina where the buzzing of Sanders fills the air and stir up memories of being with my dad. 

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Author Mike OConnor: The boat builder

Author Mike OConnor: The boat builder:        He had spent his life thus far sailing the farthest parts of the mighty Pacific. He was just a lad of fifteen when he first set s...

The boat builder

      

He had spent his life thus far sailing the farthest parts of the mighty Pacific. He was just a lad of fifteen when he first set sail onboard a three-masted schooner bound for places he could only dream about. He was a fast learner, and before his twenty-fifth year he found himself the captain of his own ship. For thirty-some years, the ocean was his home away from the bustle of crowded cities and all that came with it. 

During the few months, he did spend in port, he worked on building the boat of his own design. Once the merchant marines felt he was too old to captain, he moved into the warehouse and spent his time building the vessel that would set him free forever. He had no family, few friends and one goal. The years passed by although he didn't really notice as every day was like the ones before spent laying planks and installing hatches and portholes. He painstakingly hand sanded every piece of wood and patiently applied coat after coat of varnish and paint that would protect his work, his dream.

At high tide one April morning he rolled his boat down to the ocean's edge where he waited for the tide to set her free and glide into the waters of the Pacific. He had stocked up on provisions which he stored onboard the night before hoping it would last until he reached his first destination one thousand miles away from the safety of shore. Some had doubted the boat would float, but his knowledge and craftsmanship proved them wrong as she not only floated but took to the sea as if it was crafted by Neptune himself.

He was seventy-nine years old, and the salt of the sea was in his blood. He had sailed all day with a gentle breeze allowing for any adjustments on rigging and small leaks which he patched smiling all the while realizing he had built a sturdy craft. Sunset was upon him as he ate his supper and waited for the millions of stars to appear in the heavens. The only sound was the lapping of the sea as it made contact with the boats hull. A gentle sound he thought as he drifted to sleep at the helm letting the Pacific winds choose his final journey.

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Author Mike OConnor: Surviving the storm

Author Mike OConnor: Surviving the storm:      The small boy of about eight years sat in the rubble of what once was his bedroom. He remembered his mom tucking him in and reading ...

Surviving the storm

     The small boy of about eight years sat in the rubble of what once was his bedroom. He remembered his mom tucking him in and reading a bedtime story, his favorite one, The Wizard of Oz. Then a noise like a train coming close and a terrible shaking as the walls of his room seemed to all come together with him sitting in between all of it. He cried out for his mom, but the noise was now so horribly loud his cries went unheard. All around him his toys and games all flying racing past him in a blur of colors and shapes. His dresser had somewhat pinned him into a corner which he later learned probably saved his life.

     The terribly loud noises became an eerie silence with the passing of the storm. He could hear his mom calling his name, and he managed to cry out allowing her to find him alive but shaken. Her forehead was bleeding, and her arm appeared to be broken as she tried with one good arm to free him from the weight of the dresser. Once free, the reality of what happened crushed down upon them as they sat holding each other with tears of dismay flowing down their faces. The sounds of people outside calling out the names of family and friends was the only noise at all.

     No child should ever have to endure such a thing, but when a called-out voice responded, everyone including himself and others raced to help those in need. The first responders arrived quickly, and with organized precision, many people who were feared lost were found and reunited with their loved ones. His mom was put into an ambulance and taken to the hospital, but he stayed behind to help as best as an eight-year-old could do. He grew up that day when the sky fell onto him and fear replaced with bravery.

     If he lives to be one hundred the images of that day will stay with him. Trucks in trees houses completely gone leaving only a cement pad. A twisted pile of metal that once was a swing set. His tree house gone with the tree and scraps of peoples lives strewn about lost forever. The one thing he remembers the most is the cross that adorned the church steeple about a mile from his house was standing upright in the cornfield as if it had always been there. They ended up leaving that cross right there, making a kind of memorial spot for people to visit and give thanks for somehow being spared.

     Life went on, but slowly. Houses were rebuilt and trees planted. Loved ones lost were remembered in prayer and in celebration of their lives. Years passed and that small boy of eight years went on to live a good life in the same town that almost took him away with the winds.

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Author Mike OConnor: A mother

Author Mike OConnor: A mother:      As infants, we begin life only caring that the heartbeat we came from is constant. We care that our mother’s warmth will protect us ...

A mother

     As infants, we begin life only caring that the heartbeat we came from is constant. We care that our mother’s warmth will protect us from everything that is cold, and we will grow without any cares of ever being away from her. She is our teacher who instills in us all that is good and shelters us from evil. Her warm arms and gentle voice sings to us when something inside isn’t quite right. We hear our own screams get less and less, eventually quitting all together lost in a melody we will remember throughout time.

     No matter how she tries to keep us her baby, she understands that all small creatures grow and leave the protection of the nest. A mother’s bond is so great that she will live with the fact that you will start your own life leaving her to live with her memories, and for a few brief years she was your everything.

     Time does go full circle and babies become men and women remembering to call her on Sundays and holidays spent apart. We try to visit when we can knowing her heart would shatter if we canceled. Her picture hangs on your wall, forever young but when you do see her, age has crept up showing the lines of worry and the sparkle of love when she looks at you realizing she did a good job.

     We spend countless amounts of time trying to make a life for ourselves but forget the numerous numbers of time she gave to us never expecting anything in return. She has a picture book she keeps close by that she opens on lonely days. Her beautiful babies growing up in front of the camera. She doesn’t wipe the tears away because all mothers cry for their babies. Pick up the phone, take a ride and pick up a bunch of her favorite flowers. Surprise her with a visit when you can give her the gift of you. She is the reason for who you are and shedding a few tears with her will bring back memories that can never be replaced.

Mike

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Author Mike OConnor: One day in time

Author Mike OConnor: One day in time:       Aging with grace the old woman put forth her best smile. Her lips painted a bit off, and her favorite dress had seen better days. She...

One day in time

     Aging with grace the old woman put forth her best smile. Her lips painted a bit off, and her favorite dress had seen better days. She had her hair done which always made her feel pretty even though I constantly reminded her of her timeless beauty. She wanted to wear her silver flats, but after several attempts at getting them on, she gave up and slipped into her fuzzy white bedroom slippers. "How do I look," she asked me? "Like the beautiful lady, you are" I replied. I put a blanket across her lap, and we proceeded out of the nursing home and onto the city street she had requested to go. I pushed her wheelchair slowly so she could look in the store windows at all the things she said she would have again someday. “I want that blue dress," she said suddenly and louder than her usually soft-spoken self. "Well, maybe tomorrow," she said and looked off in the distance like she was trying to remember where she was.

     We continued our walk well into the day, stopping for lunch at her favorite diner. A place she told me she went to quite often with her late husband. She smiled at the waitress who asked her what she would like and without hesitation she replied “ A double cheeseburger all the way and a chocolate shake please “She made small talk while we waited for our lunch, but mostly she looked out of the window at people passing by, and I wondered if she was back somewhere in a time when she was young, and her memory never questioned.? She tackled that cheeseburger as if it would be her last meal with mustard on the corners of her mouth the only thing left uneaten. She didn’t seem to mind when I gently wiped away the mustard and smiled her thanks. We left the diner and began the long walk back when sleep came to her. I covered her lap and brought the blanket up around her chin as the late afternoon had a bite to it.

     Back in her room, I sat next to her not wanting to wake her just yet. I looked at her beautiful face and the wisps of hair she so loved having done. I took her feeble hand in mine and softly kissed it, remembering all the things she did for me with her once busy hands. She must have felt the kiss as she opened her eyes and smiled, a smile only a mother can have for her child. "what's this" she asked me as she opened the white box with a pink ribbon I had put on her lap. Tears rolled down her face as she pulled out that blue dress, she saw in the store window. It didn't matter to her when I bought it only that it was the most beautiful dress in the world. "You will have to take me dancing," she said with excitement. "And I'll wear my silver slippers."

     The nurse came in and said it was time for her to get some rest after her busy day. She kissed my cheek and held her hand on my face before getting into her bed. The nurse tried to take the dress and hang it up, but she would have nothing to do with that. I turned to look at her as I was leaving, a sweet, wonderful lady that is my mother, holding on for dear life to the memory she made today.

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Author Mike OConnor: Moving the earth

Author Mike OConnor: Moving the earth:        I grew up in beautiful upstate New York where back in the sixty’s construction was booming. Whole neighborhoods were developed on pa...

Moving the earth

      I grew up in beautiful upstate New York where back in the sixty’s construction was booming. Whole neighborhoods were developed on paper then the heavy equipment rolled in to begin clearing the acres and acres of trees. Houses by the hundreds meant removing a ton of timber. Our family was one of the first home buyers in a development called "Park Place. We would take a drive as a family on most Sundays to watch the progress on our soon to be home. My sisters and I would run through the different rooms wondering which would be ours, while my parents kept busy picking out wallpaper and colors for each room. A big fireplace was being put together brick by brick, and I couldn't wait to build the first fire in it.

     Just a few hundred feet away in the back of the house some heavy equipment was sitting idle as it was Sunday and no work was done on that day. I remember climbing up the three steps into the cab which smelled of fresh dirt and oil. I sat in the seat pretending I was the operator, moving dirt and crashing down trees making way for more houses. It was out of the corner of my eye that I saw the keys were in the ignition and a cold sweat started running down my face. Something inside of me told me it was a horrible idea, but my youth and stupidity got the best of me as I turned the key and the beast roared to life spuing black smoke as I sat petrified. I remember from watching my father drive that if I wanted to move forward all I had to do was put the lever in "D', so I did. With a lurch, the machine began to crawl forward heading straight for our house.

     If I live to be a hundred, I will never forget the looks on my parents and sisters faces as they looked out of the back door to see me on the big machine a look of terror on my young face. My dad was the first to move running towards me yelling for me to shut it off! But I was frozen and unable to do anything. I learned some of my first cuss words from my dad that day as he jumped into the cab and turned the beast off with a sudden stop and a puff of black smoke. I don't think my feet touched the ground as he held me up above it with one hand around the nape of my neck, while his other hand spanked my butt all the way back to the car. "You just stay put young man," he said as he went back into the house. I did as he said thinking about the adventure I just had and wouldn't trade for anything in the world. Could have done without the ass whooping but what eight-year-old can say he drove an earth mover? Life was good.

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Author Mike OConnor: Best friends

Author Mike OConnor: Best friends:      The morning came too soon as he lay in bed figuring out what he would do to occupy his time? He cleaned the small trailer he lived in ...

Best friends

     The morning came too soon as he lay in bed figuring out what he would do to occupy his time? He cleaned the small trailer he lived in yesterday, it didn't take very long no matter how slow he went. The day before he went food shopping where again he took his time going up and down each isle although he only really came for a few items. Last night he finished reading a book he had found on a park bench. It captured his attention as it was a story of the high seas adventure. He debated taking a sleeping pill as he only did so when sleep just wouldn’t come. This night he believed it would.

     When he was a younger man he was up before the alarm, now that clock sits in a closed dresser drawer because he didn’t ever have to get up early anymore. Now on whatever day of the week it was, he laid there trying to motivate himself to face the day, to accomplish something, anything but this never-ending loneliness he lived with. He heard a soft whimpering coming from the kitchen that got him up and moving even if only to let his old and faithful friend outside to do his morning business. The two of them were getting long in the tooth, but neither of them would admit to who would go first?

Standing at the kitchen sink filling the coffee pot he gazed out of the small window watching his old friend try to find that perfect spot that usually took a while, he figured his smeller wasn’t what it once was. The smell of perking coffee soon filled the trailer with an aroma he had always loved. He knew standing there waiting for it to finish brewing wouldn’t hurry the process, but he didn’t have anything else to do at that moment. The almost quiet whimpering from the back door told him to let his old friend inside where he would have his breakfast alongside him as he sat at the little table sipping his first cup of the day. After fixing himself a bowl of cocoa crispies, his favorite cereal of all time, he got up from the table and moved the eight feet to his comfortable chair where he fell asleep to the heavy breathing of his faithful friend lying beside him on the cool floor of the small trailer.

     They found both the next day when a neighbor called for a wellness check. He was in his chair, his outstretched arm around the neck of his best friend. They had both passed during the night, but no one really knew who went first? I hope they were sharing the same dream, the one he spoke of sometimes when neighbors spoke to him. They were both young again, running together down a white sand beach him just enjoying the day and his friend chasing birds and fetching sticks. All was good in life and hopefully will continue for all eternity.

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Author Mike OConnor: Winter love

Author Mike OConnor: Winter love:       The only part of his body not covered were his eyes, that looked out on a frozen, wind-blown night. His legs and feet knew the rout...

Winter love

     The only part of his body not covered were his eyes, that looked out on a frozen, wind-blown night. His legs and feet knew the route from her house to his along the tree-lined roads that protected him like a canopy from some of the winter's blast. Driveways were filled with snow covered cars whose owners were inside, warm and safe. Every so often he did hear the crunch of tires on snow as someone braved these horrible conditions.

     His breathing was labored as the frigid wind pierced through the wool face mask he wore, frozen ice balls collecting on it like Velcro. His eyelashes were heavy with ice as he tried to make out familiar landmarks along the way but depended mostly on his memory of the route. Just another mile or so he thought to himself as his steps became more labored as he trudged through now knee-high snow. Each step forward another closer to home.

     Turning into his driveway, he saw the porch light burning brightly, the smell of wood burning in the fireplace. He entered the house using the back door the blast of warmth filling him with a soothing welcome. Standing just inside of the door he began to slowly remove the layers of clothing that saved his life that long journey home. He looked in the mirror on his way into the kitchen and saw two red circles around his eyes where the stocking mask didn’t cover, and he wondered if it would be noticed?

     He greeted his mom who touched his face and told him to have a seat as she had kept a plate warm for him. The hot meal a soothing swallow of warmth with each bite. His dad came into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee not looking at him but speaking to him in a slow, deliberate voice of authority. “Don’t you think in weather like this you could skip walking her home from school”? "That nice warm bus could have dropped you off at the door, and you wouldn't have to risk frostbite" He didn't wait for a reply just took his coffee and left the room.

     His mom sat next to him and in a soft voice told him how his dad use to walk her home from school in all kinds of weather. Once he got so wet that he caught pneumonia and was sick for a week. Another time it was a night much like this one, and he wasn't dressed for it. He got frostbite on his fingers and almost lost them but gratefully didn't. "Its tough being in love sometimes," she told him" But one doesn't always think clearly when the heart is the only thing that makes any sense” He got up from the table and walked into the room where his dad was reading the evening paper. He put his hand on his dads’ shoulder and felt the warmth as his dad covered his still cold hand with his own, looking up at him with understanding and love.

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Author Mike OConnor: Just believe

Author Mike OConnor: Just believe:      Another star was seen in the heavens, some would say that God opens a door and the light from eternity shines through allowing anothe...

Just believe

     Another star was seen in the heavens, some would say that God opens a door and the light from eternity shines through allowing another soul to enter. As I look up this night, I say a prayer you are the one gaining entry and the light I see is your open door to eternal peace and happiness.

     There are a hundred clouds in the sky today. Some take the shapes of animals to welcome the worlds best friends to a field that never ends and a million games of fetch. Some clouds take the shape of faces that could maybe be the face of a loved one showing they are watching over us. Then there are the clouds that look like a stairway to the heavens, waiting for chosen souls to climb.

     There are many sights to see if you take time to look. Messages from the sky and from nature that can bring you peace during the darkest days. I once sat at the edge of a river watching the currents take sticks and other debris past me on its way to the end wherever that may be? One such piece of fallen branches still had leaves clinging to it that seemed to be waving goodbye as it passed me.

     Sitting on a cold park bench after a snowfall I noticed small footprints leading from the bench out into the dense forest. They were small in size, and the prints had toes, and I asked myself what a child would be doing in such weather in this place, and in the freezing snow? I followed the tiny prints that abruptly ended at a huge and ancient oak tree. As I looked further, I noticed a part of the trees bottom that resembled a cradle. Did the child wander away from the bench and grow tired and cold finding comfort in the tree?

     I believe that those who have passed sometimes come back to familiar places to leave reminders of themselves, not only for those they left behind but for any of us who believe all things are possible.

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