December 2, 2017

IMG_0127.JPGThere are certain days on the calendar that are marked for celebration or remembrance.  Usually we think of them as happy days but sometimes they are quiet days of reflection.  December 2 became a marked day for me in 2011 when mom passed away.   Every December 2nd since then I have remembered, reflected, and some things I try to forget.  I have tried various ways to spend that day to help get through the 24 hours.  One year I bore my testimony.  One year I tried to do an act of service.  I just try to find some small way to do something mom would be proud of. Continue reading

The Toll We Pay

I didn’t think I could do it.

I thought that I would fail.

To my surprise I did it.

I survived this dreadful tale.


I’m stronger than I thought.

I didn’t even fall.

But now around my heart

I had to build a wall.


I can survive anything.

But what will be the cost?

Is it worth remaining

if my soul is lost?


Is that the toll we pay

just for getting older?

The heart continues beating

but everyday grows colder.


© 2014 ck’s days

The View

The road below

I am surrounded by hills.

I used to go walking and there was a spot I’d visit.

It kept secrets well.

In fact, the ground was littered with shiny, broken secrets from other people.  People who visited at night.

I always visited during the day.

“I want out of this town,” I confided to the sagebrush.

“My life will be much happier when I’m out,” I told the rocks.

“I hate my life here!” I’d yell down to the road.

“Life isn’t fair.”  At that time, I indulged in the belief that life had to be fair in order to be good.

I-80 stretched  out below me carrying bug-sized cars to different destinations.  It disappeared around the bend in the east.

It was my hope that life didn’t end in town.  Surely, there was more than what I could see.

When the time came, and the time was right, the road below would be my escape route.

The same road that got me out, brought me home again.

I visited my spot the other day.  The cars hurried on their way below.

“I miss my mom,” I confided to the sagebrush.

“I want her back,” I told the rocks.

“I miss my mom and I want her back!” I yelled down to the road.

“It’s not fair,” I said as more of an indulgence than belief.  I’ve learned life isn’t fair, but it can still be good.  It’s how we handle the unfairness that determine our happiness.

The road below still disappears around the bend in the east.  It reminds me there is more than this town.

When the time is right, and the time will come, I will follow a road out of town.

And return home.

Originally posted May 8, 2012