Tag Archives: Father

Haiku Friday – Star & Bloom

16 Jun

 

“My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person, he believed in me.”

~Jim Valvano

I lost my father in January of this year and I wasn’t sure how I would feel come Father’s Day. There’s a heaviness in my heart because I miss him. I miss his voice, smile, laughing eyes, and hugs. I miss watching the Discovery, National Geographic, History and Sci-Fi channels with him and discussing what we saw afterward. I miss reading books with him and forming our own little book club to talk about what we’d read.

I remember the faces he made whenever my mom made him dance with her, and his stiff, soldierly way of dancing. He loved movies, like I did, and I remember his reaction when we saw Avatar together in 3D. He resembled a child in his excitement and amazement having never seen anything like that before.

I should never have written ‘lost’ because he’s not lost. He’s in a better place and one day we’ll see each other again and together we’ll marvel at things even more amazing.

father-Father's Day-The Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-Haiku_Friday-Poetry-RonovanWrites

She reached for the stars

The depth of her father’s love

showed her how to thrive

father-Father's Day-The Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-Haiku_Friday-Poetry-RonovanWrites

 

I Love You, Dad

by 365greetings.com

Your arms are my shelter

Assuring me that it will be better

Your hand is my comfort

Lifting me up when I fall short

Your voice makes me strong

Teaching me what’s right and wrong

Your smile says it all

Father, I love you more than all

father-Father's Day-The Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-Haiku_Friday-Poetry-RonovanWrites

“Every good man is a father to someone.”

 

 

I don’t want to say goodbye . . .

31 Mar

My father is in the hospital again. He had been doing better than expected for a while now, so I guess it made us forget how bad things really are. He came over my house on Sunday for Easter brunch and although he was walking and talking and seemed to be happy I noticed there was something off. He was pallid and he struggled more than usual to walk and he hardly ate.

He went downhill from there and at 3:00 am on Tuesday he was admitted to the hospital. He’s lethargic and unresponsive now. When I arrived at the hospital and spoke to him he tried to open his eyes and he managed to open them a little and he smiled but after that he wasn’t responding to the nurses or doctors that came by.

I’ve been in and out of the hospital since then, mostly in, which is why I didn’t do Writer’s Quote Wednesday and haven’t been online much at all. Sorry about that. My sister Cleo is in the hospital with him now and I’ll be leaving soon but I didn’t want to leave everyone hanging without an explanation. I’ll get myself together and get back to my routine as soon as I can but for now I’m going to see my dad. This is a very painful part in someone’s life and I’m barely hanging on.

My father has come close several times and recovered. He has a very strong will but this time it seems different.

Father-Poetry-the love of a father

My dad

Father

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the facade of a brave man as his baby boy entered the world.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

What are my duties? There are no guidelines. Where do I begin?

The babe in his arms felt so natural, yet so alien. A fire blazed in his chest.

“You are a father now.” The words were jolting, yet pleasing to his heart.

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the façade of a calm man as his son toddled, taking his first steps.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

What if he falls? What if he hurts himself? I would fail as a father.

The toddler tottered to him and embraced him with dulcet giggles.

As he held his son, it did not feel alien. His heart gave way for love to conquer.

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the façade of a cool man as his son introduced him to his first girl.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

What if he falls in love? What if she breaks his heart?

He embraced his son and slipped extra cash in his pocket.

As he held him, it felt like love, and he rested assured his son was smart.

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the façade of a brave man as his son grew and had sons of his own.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

Did I raise him right? Did I teach him to be a good husband and father?

He embraced his son, and they were swathed by the love they both felt.

As he held his son, his questions were answered, and he grew calmer.

His son’s brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched his father wear the façade of a spent man as he lay on a hospital bed.

His son’s mind and body were consumed by overwhelming fears.

Am I doing the right thing? Who am I to decide when his time has come?

His face dampened with sorrow as he embraced his father.

As he held his father’s weary body and gazed into his dimming eyes, his questions were answered, and he grew calmer.

His brown eyes deepen into polished onyx, and upon them comes a mist of tears.

He watches with the façade of a pitiful man as his son reaches for that button.

He is ready to leave this world and grateful his son has let go of his fears.

As his son holds his ruined body, and he feels the lifeblood drain from his eyes, he knows he has raised him right.

His mind and body are consumed with overwhelming love.

His son has given him the gift of peace, and his happy spirit travels toward the light.

Copyright © 2014 by Vashti Quiroz-Vega. All rights reserved.

Image

A Sad Father’s Day?

11 Jun

FATHER-AND-SON-Vashti Quiroz-Vega's Blog

 

 

As some of you know, my father is very sick. People tell me to enjoy him while I still have him, but I can’t help thinking of what it will be like when he’s no longer around. He isn’t the man he was a few years ago so I feel like I’m already losing him. We used to watch the history and Discovery channels together and spend hours discussing what we had seen. We can’t do that anymore. We both read Angels and Demons and The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown at the same time, and we had a great time talking about what we’d read on a daily basis. Those days are gone. Now, Father’s Day is around the corner and we won’t be able to have a picnic on the beach or go to the theater, but you know what? I’m not going to be sad on Father’s Day because we’re going to have a great time together. I’m done wallowing in negativity. I’m going to enjoy the time we have together. He may not be the same man he once was, but he is still my father, and I still love him very much.

 

I wrote this poem about a year ago, but I would like to share it with all of you again.

 

 

Father

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the facade of a brave man as his baby boy entered the world.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

What are my duties? There are no guidelines. Where do I start?

The babe in his arms felt so natural, yet so alien. A fire blazed in his chest.

“You are a father now.” The words were jolting, yet pleasing to his heart.

Father_and_Baby-Vashti Quiroz-Vega

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the façade of a calm man as his son toddled, taking his first steps.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

What if he falls? What if he hurts himself? Then I would have failed as a father.

The toddler tottered to him and embraced his dad with dulcet giggles.

As he held his son, it did not feel alien. His heart gave way for love to conquer.

stock-footage-loving-young-caucasian-father-enjoying-visit-outdoors-park-playing-with-smiling-toddler-son-slow

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the façade of a cool man as his son introduced him to his first girl.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

What if he falls in love? What if she breaks his heart?

He embraced his son and slipped extra cash in his pocket.

As he held his son, it felt like love, and he rested assured his son was smart.

father-and-son

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the façade of a brave man as his son grew and had sons of his own.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

Did I raise him right? Did I teach him to be a good husband and father?

He embraced his son, and they were swathed by the love they both felt.

As he held his son, his questions were answered, and he grew calmer.

Son father and grandfather-Vashti Quiroz-Vega's Blog

His son’s brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched his father wear the façade of a spent man as he lay on a hospital bed.

His son’s mind and body were consumed by overwhelming fears.

Am I doing the right thing? Who am I to decide when his time has come?

His face dampened with sorrow as he embraced his father.

As he held his father’s weary body and gazed into his dimming eyes, his questions were answered, and he grew calmer.

man-crying-Vashti Quiroz-Vega's blog

His brown eyes deepen into polished onyx, and upon them comes a mist of tears.

He watches with the façade of a pitiful man as his son reaches for that plug.

He is ready to leave this world and grateful his son has let go of his fears.

As his son holds his ruined body, and he feels the lifeblood drain from his eyes, he knows he has raised him right.

His mind and body are consumed with overwhelming love.

His son has given him the gift of peace, and his happy spirit travels toward the light.

cemiterio-s-joao-batista-vashti quiroz-vega

Copyright © 2014 by Vashti Quiroz-Vega. All rights reserved.

*Dealing with a very sick parent or the death of a parent is difficult, painful and sad. It may feel as if the loss of your dad or mom has taken away the person you are inside, has removed a piece of yourself that was integral to making you the person you are. Here are some links to start working through your pain and sadness.

Helping yourself As You Cope With The Loss Of A Parent

A Daughter Losing Her Father: Six Months Later

Father’s Day Without A Father

Dad-father's day-vashti quiroz-vega

How are you celebrating Father’s Day? 

 

Image

Disconnect

7 Jun

Disconnected

Photograph Feel Pain by Mehmet Turgut

 

 

Hello! Welcome to my blog. My name is Vashti Quiroz-Vega, for those of you visiting for the first time. I am a writer of Fantasy, Horror, Suspense and Thrillers. I do, however, have a tendency to mix a little Romance and humor (among other genres) into my stories.
I love art, creativity and beauty, and I know these come in many forms. In my quest to build my author platform, I have met and befriended a group of incredibly talented individuals. Writers, poets, bloggers, artists, photographers and even singers who are masterful at what they do. I feel blessed to have found them, and I would be selfish if I kept the beauty, artistry and creativeness of their craft all to myself.
So for the next few weeks I will be featuring their art, writings, photography and music along with my own work on this blog. I guarantee you will enjoy every bit of it.
In today’s post I will feature the talented writer and poet Glendon Perkins.

 

 

Glendon wrote this piece when he was struggling with a major decision in his life. His writing touched me deeply, as I am sure it will touch you.

photo

 

 

 

Disconnect

by Glendon Perkins

The nurse walked in, said to me, “It’s time.”

My shoulders slumped. I drew in a deep breath, held it, and let it out slow. If I could have prevented the moment by holding my breath, I would have.

I followed the nurse through the door and down the hall. While I followed her through the constricting corridors, I focused on the carpet. There was consistency in the bluish-gray carpet; no change. Soon everything would change.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

I hesitated, trying to find the right words. Were there words that could convey how I felt? I’m not sure. I decided a simple response was best. “No.”

“We could try some other things.” Her face was drawn, as though she’d had a long night as well. “I know we could approach the doctor and find something or someone. We could contact Mayo or Johns Hopkins.” Her voice cracked a few times

I read clearing your throat helps to keep the tears from coming. I cleared my throat, my tears stayed back. “I…I…I th—think it’s b—best if w—w—we don’t.” Covering my mouth, looked away.

She hugs me. We stood embracing for several minutes. I broke away first.  Time to finish this.

We walked the rest of the way in silence. My emotions were wound as tight as a guitar string, and the slightest plucking would send me into a chorus of tears.

She stopped in the doorway. Pointing at a laptop on a stand she said, “Just press the DISCONNECT button. I’ll leave you with him.” She gave my forearm a pat and a squeeze before walking away.

Despite the warmth of the room, I felt like I had walked into an icebox. Shivers raced across my body, my blood cold, my heart solid ice.

I felt cruel. Was I the Reaper, the Angel of Death? Wasn’t I about to do what he did?

I walked further into the room, making a wide birth around the laptop. I looked up at the life support monitors. Several lines showed vital functions with jagged peaks and valleys. Some consistently moved up and down, others were furious with activity, their readings jumbled and mismatched.

A web of wires and tubes crossed each other and meandered around stainless steel poles and computer monitors. A respirator with a white corrugated tube led to the intubation line. White adhesive patches connected his damaged brain to the EEG machine with wires of several colors. The room smells of copper wire and plastic from life-supporting devices.

I approached his bed with trepidation and sat on the edge. He lay in a beige hospital gown, blankets tucked neatly around his waist. Clear tape secured the IV catheters to his wrists. The intubation tube connected to the tracheotomy.

I wrapped my fingers his hand, “Dad, I…” The words lodged in my throat.

Wiping my eyes and running nose with my forearm, I found the strength to continue. “The doctors don’t think anything can be—”

I broke down in rivulets of tears, every pent up emotion over the last three months pouring down my face, my head bobbing with each sob.

I was about to turn off machines that kept my father alive. Would I ever find peace again? Would I wake up every night screaming in the darkness? Would every look I received on the street, at work, or from my family and friends be anything but contempt? Worse, what if my dad lay there getting better and the doctors couldn’t see it? Would my dad forgive me? Would he look at me from the Afterlife and ask me, “How could you?”

As my contemplation threatened to destroy me, a voice from the past spoke up.  “Son, I don’t want machines to keep me alive. I am going to trust your decision. Give me peace when I need it.”

I choked back my despair. I whispered in his ear, “Dad, I came here to give you peace. I love you.”

Looking at his face, I wondered if he heard me.

I stood, walked over to the laptop, and stared at the screen for a moment. I raised my had to the keyboard, fingers shaking, palms sweating. I slowly lowered my fingers to the mousepad…I pushed DISCONNECT.

I walked back to the chair and sat down. I rested my head on his chest, placed his hand on my face, and felt his pulse and respirations slow, “I love you, Dad. May you be at peace.”

Would I ever have peace?

~by Glendon Perkins

 

Please check out Glendon’s links below, and if you like smart Horror with lots of suspense, thrills and chills, you’ll love Glendon’s blog novel Buried Alive. It is a must-read for all you Horror fans out there!

http://www.glendonperkins.com

http://www.glendonperkins.blogspot.com

http://twitter.com/glenperk

Father_and_son_by_Gloredel

Photograph by Marie Gloredel 

 

 

Father

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the facade of a brave man as his baby boy entered the world.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

What are my duties? There are no guidelines. Where do I start?

The babe in his arms felt so natural, yet so alien. A fire blazed in his chest.

“You are a father now.” The words were jolting, yet pleasing to his heart.

*

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the façade of a calm man as his son toddled, taking his first steps.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

What if he falls? What if he hurts himself? Then I would have failed as a father.

The toddler tottered to him and embraced his dad with dulcet giggles.

As he held his son, it did not feel alien. His heart gave way for love to conquer.

*

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the façade of a cool man as his son introduced him to his first girl.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

What if he falls in love? What if she breaks his heart?

He embraced his son and slipped extra cash in his pocket.

As he held his son, it felt like love, and he rested assured his son was smart.

*

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the façade of a brave man as his son grew and had sons of his own.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

Did I raise him right? Did I teach him to be a good husband and father?

He embraced his son, and they were swathed by the love they both felt.

As he held his son, his questions were answered, and he grew calmer.

*

His son’s brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched his father wear the façade of a spent man as he lay on a hospital bed.

His son’s mind and body were consumed by overwhelming fears.

Am I doing the right thing? Who am I to decide when his time has come?

His face dampened with sorrow. He embraced his father.

As he held his father’s weary body and gazed into his dimming eyes, his questions were answered, and he grew calmer.

*

His brown eyes deepen into polished onyx, and upon them comes a mist of tears.

He watches with the façade of a pitiful man as his son reaches for that plug.

He is ready to leave this world and grateful his son has let go of his fears.

As his son holds his ruined body, and he feels the lifeblood drain from his eyes, he knows he has raised him right.

His mind and body are consumed with overwhelming love.

His son has given him the gift of peace, and his happy spirit travels toward the light.

~by Vashti Quiroz-Vega