Wednesday, March 30, 2005


Peggy was quiet this morning and had the voice of the little girl that she was so long ago.

After I hung up the phone, I thought about Harrison Park in West End.

I have not thought of that park in many, many years.

It was a park that was close to our home. Peggy and I would walk there in the summer time to play and swing. Sometimes we would stay all day.

Our Mother always made us wear shoes when we walked to the park but we would take them off as soon as we reached the swings.

The swings were giant steel structures with faded boards for seats.

The chains that held the swings had rusted with use and also  because of the hot summer weather in Alabama.

Peggy and I would pull off our shoes and socks and run for the swings. She always had trouble getting her swing started so I would stand behind her and push as hard as I could.

Soon, we were both flying through the summer day. We swung so hard and so high that the rush of the hot summer wind in our faces would take our breath away.

We would swing so high that the chains on the swings would jerk when we would swing forward.

We always leaned back when we would swing backward to give us greater height as we swung forward again.

On days when we were particular brave, we would take a deep breath and jump out of the swing when it would go forward. We usually landed in a heap on the ground but we were very proud of our bravery.

Our favorite thing to do was to swing as high as we could so that we could...

Touch the clouds with our toes.

We had declared that touching the clouds with our toes was very good luck. We spent hours swinging and touching our toes to the white fluffy clouds as they floated by on the hot summer days in Alabama.  The days of our girlhood when we were young, brave and strong and knew in our hearts that a cloud on our toe could change everything.

 This morning, the little girl in me wanted to take Peggy back to Harrison Park.

I wanted to take her back to the swing set with the faded wooden seats. I wanted to give her a giant push so that she could touch the clouds with her toes.

The little girl in me is certain that if I could take Peggy back to Harrison Park and she could touch the clouds with her more time...

She would be well again.

I Love You Today, Peggy!

Mary Louise


wendy4145 said...

I know where west end is.. i have friends who live t here.


that is a wonderful story to read

sanforized6 said...

WOW!! rich

xxpinkpixe said...

Nice Journal...WTG! Keep Up The Good Work. I Just Started Mine A Couple Days & Having Trouble Getting People To View & Leave Comments. Help! *LoL* Thanks For Your Time.

lowis6535 said...

    When people that I know suffer a loss, I often am moved to express myself in writing a tribute, which is what you are doing with your journal ... it is a release ... and, in honor.
    One item that I wrote when three young people at my daughter's high school were killed, I have used over and over ... sometimes just changing the wording just a little to customize it for the occasion.  
    I offer it to you ... online ... in comfort:

gabreaelinfo said...

This is one of the most touching entries I have ever read. Please know that in a life that is very serene, not a lot is learnt. It is through suffering and how one handles that experience that makes us who we are.

Thank you for your kind words in my journal. You caught me just as I was posting a new post this morning.


peppypioneer said...

Once again you write so beautifully and lovingly of your sister and your shared memories.  As long as you have these memories she remains alive and "whole".  I  haven't visited for awhile as my husband and I are grappling with our own new reality; metastatic cancer which has lodged in his lung.  Your writing of Peggy has given me the courage to share some of my own journey.  Thank you.  Paulette a

gracefulfroggy57 said...

i am so grandmother has alzheimers and she sometimes thinks i am my mother...your journal puts into words exactly what is in my heart, except that i could never word it so fluently. it is hard talking to nana because we often have to repeat our words and so the conversation nevr goes far...but i do it because i remember another nana who gave us tea parties with grape juice and cookies. i try and picture that nana in my head whenever i am thinking of crying during a conversation. your struggle embodies so much of what love is really all about, and i thank you for being willing to place your thoughts here so that others can be profoundly imapcted by them. ~Meg