Ramblings of an Old, Romantic Soul

So, as everyone must know by now, I love my cats...Miss Marplestein and Dulcinea.  They are simply adorable and bring so much pleasure to my life.  I posted the other day about Dulcinea getting into my 'unmentionables' drawer.  Well, not to be out done, I must post about Miss Marplestein.  Now, she is much more demure than Dulcinea.  The other night, I looked up, and there she was, just sitting on the wall enjoying the Christmas tree lights and decorations.  Yes, I had to snap a picture or two and yes, I just had to post.  She was so intent she didn't even notice the camera.  I wonder what she was thinking or was she just wishing upon the star? Both cats have loved the tree this year - have enjoyed sleeping under the pine canopy, especially when Henley is visiting the neighbors.  All is peaceful and quiet.  Merry Christmas to my baby girls who bring me such joy!

Today, sixty years ago, the union of two beautiful people took place in Heilwood, PA ~ it was the beginning of a great love story that would last through the years.  I am thinking of my parents today, with all my heart.  This, of all days, must be the most difficult for my mother.  They were two young people, from very different walks of life. One was an only child, a latch key kid even way back then, the other one of six from a traditional family.  One was a city boy, the other a country girl.  One grew up thinking she was adopted (as many of us do!), the other grew up the center of attention, the apple of his family's eye.  And yet, they were similar in many ways:  both had lost a parent early in their life; both had a strong, Catholic faith, and both were naive and innocent in the ways of the world And yet, they managed to find their way to Washington, D.C., meet, and fall  in love.  My mother always says they were 'just two young kids who didn't, know what we were d

So, my 'baby girls' continue to be a delight.  They amuse and amaze constantly.  And today, when I most needed a distraction, Dulcinea provided.  She has taken to scratching at either the linen closet or my underwear drawer...if she does this long enough, she opens the closet or the drawer, and climbs inside.  Today, we came home from our walk and there she was, sitting in my underwear drawer - and she had tossed some of my 'unmentionables' onto the floor!  A good laugh indeed and just too precious for words. I can't seem to focus on much...everything I think about leads me back to Daddy...and I can't seem to decide what I want to do; my mind switches from one thing to another and I can't make decisions.  Do I want to go to church - but if I do I'm afraid the first note of the first carol will open a floodgate.  Do I want to go to my sister-in-law's family - but if I do, I'm afraid all the laughter and togetherness will make me miss him even mo

So many thoughts have been raging through my head today, so forgive me if none of this makes sense - it is pure randomness...my thoughts put to paper, or put to blog. Eleven months today.  I marvel at the complexity of grief.  How is it my mind knows something is real, yet my heart has such a hard time believing, cannot comprehend.  His absence is still surreal.  It's so hard thinking of him in the past tense - I can't.  My heart won't let me just yet.  I miss you so much. I guess this relates somewhat to my last blog about growing up ourselves.  To my niece who has chosen her own lifestyle:  your choice.  You've chosen to smoke pot, drink excessively, party...you've chosen your sexuality. You've chosen not to keep a job - all the other things you're doing are just too important to hold down a 'stupid' job - seasonal or not.  Just because your parents will no longer tolerate your irresponsibility and don't approve of your choices, does not me

Ah, is there such a thing any more?  Seems in today's world, everyone wants to blame someone else for their problems.  'I'm this way because my parents spanked me' or 'I'm afraid to love because I was jilted 20 years ago' or 'I can't succeed because my teacher gave me an 'f' and it made me feel inadequate'...yadda yadda yadda. So, life isn't perfect...get up and move on, and instead of blaming take responsibility and move forward. The other night we caught part of a movie - Death at a Funeral.  The original, British version, not the remake with Chris Rock.  It's quite a comedy, as only the British can do.  At one point, the son who feels inadequate in so many ways, gives a speech about his father (a secret life of his father has just been revealed and is quite shocking)...and his speech struck a chord with me.  Below is an excerpt of the speech: "...Life isn't simple, it's complicated. We're all just thrown in

Today is your birthday.  I have no doubt you are celebrating, for the first time in many years, with your Mom and Dad, Grammy, Aunt Marie and Uncle Ed, your in-laws, and so many of your friends:  Uncle Jack and Aunt Arline, Ed K, Bill M, Sam D, Mary Grace A...just to name a few.  I'm sure you're all gathered around laughing and praising God. But I miss you.  I say that alot, I know, but it's true. This morning, my love quote was the following by Saint Bernard of Clairvaux: " We find rest in those we love, and we provide a resting place in ourselves for those who love us."  I thought of you when I saw the quote and knew I had to use it.  And then I found this photo - of you, Mom, and Rudy - which, to me, encompasses what the quote is all about...Tommy said that "St. Bernard rocks! One of the most bad-ass Catholic saints ever!"  He also said that you were, and I quote 'a Catholic bad-ass!" Have to chuckle at his statement, and knew you would ap

At our wedding mass, during the homily, the priest stated that often times it was hard to stand and unite two people in marriage, knowing it most likely would not last; he was happy to celebrate our marriage because he knew we had a good chance of surviving.  And he was so right.  This past Wednesday, on the 26th of October we celebrated 15 years of wedded bliss. Our life has had its share of ups and downs, good times and bad, but overall the past fifteen years have been the best of my life.  After our marriage, we continued living with my parents.  My Dad had health issues, and we were able to help them when needed.  When my father-in-law started having health issues, we then decided to move in with him (and a brother-in-law).  My husband had given himself so selflessly to my parents, never complaining; I knew it was my turn to step up to the plate.  It was a difficult decision, and probably the most difficult time of our marriage, but I knew I had given my husband a gift - being wi

I must be officially old.  Seems this young generation - the X generation - is nothing but a bunch of mambie pambies.  Mind you, I am well aware that this does not apply to all, but what is it with so many of these kids, or young adults, nowadays? And the term 'young adults' must be used mildly.  They think they are adults, yet they have no clue how to debate, how to hold a decent conversation.  If you contradict or disagree, they pout and curse you, or heaven forbid, 'defriend' you; they call you old and a bitch.  Yep, I am now at that stage of my life where I am old and a bitch.  But you know what?  Thank the good lord!  I can say what I want to say and not have to worry about someone liking me!  These so called 'adults' want to have their opinions and they want you to agree with them.  If you differ from what they think then we don't know what we're talking about.  Or I'm a drama queen.  They can cuss all they want, they can steal, they can do

It is nine months today since you breathed your last breath.  Nine months, and I still grieve your death. I miss you.  I miss your smile, I miss your laugh, I miss your hugs - I miss you. Why is it getting harder?  I go about my days, my weeks, and life goes on; and yet, there is an emptiness that I cannot deny.  There are snippets of joy, moments when a genuine smile appears on my face - but it is only temporary.  My life is gray.  Everything 'just is'. This morning I awoke and my thoughts are of you.  I remember the day you came home.  We were celebrating your homecoming, joyful you were back where you wanted to be.  We had 'welcome home' balloons, and many of your loved ones were there to greet you.  We went down to meet the ambulance and we walked alongside the gurney; we settled you and made sure you were comfy.  All this, knowing you had come home to die.  And that thought is what I cannot escape today.  You came home to die. What a blessing to have those d

The final curtain dropped last week...he was sentenced.  He will spend the rest of his life in jail. Some may think this is a joyous victory, but it is not.  There are conflicting emotions, and it's very difficult to sort through the debris.  Yes, justice has been served and I am happy he will pay for what he did.  And yet, this is a man who was part of my family, someone I loved and called friend and to think of him spending the rest of his life in prison...well, it makes me very sad.  Some may think the sentence too harsh.  I do not.  He took two innocent lives and damaged them, imprisoned them in their own home...now he will serve the sentence he imposed on them.  Had he shown any sign of sorrow, any sign of remorse for his actions, perhaps he would have been spared; perhaps I would find some compassion for him.  He chose to remain silent.  He chose to proclaim his innocence till the end. He chose not to look at his daughters, he chose not to apologize - nothing.  And that s

Henley Patches Stewart Hooper 'And they call it puppy love...'  Ah, yes, and how true it is!  I am in love with a sweet, little puppy called Henley!  He is a Jack Russell Terrier mix, not quite two months old.  Henley came home to us on Monday, 15 August.  He is just the most adorable puppy in the whole wide world. Has it been an adjustment?  Absolutely.  Have the baby girls adjusted?  Not quite, but they are making progress each day.  Are we happy we made the decision to get a puppy - no doubt in our minds!  Perhaps my nose was a bit disjointed at first - I've only been asking for a puppy for two and half years, since we moved down here.  My hubs was dead set against it and nothing changed his mind.  Quite amazing that only one month after living with us, my niece was able to change his mind...hmmmm... Who cares?  I have my puppy.  I am Mamma; Luna is Mommy; of course Terry is Daddy.  All three of us have fallen in love.  The cats will follow, I'm sure.  Ha

Life has been busy for the past month or more and I haven't had time to write much of anything.  But this morning while perusing Facebook, a question was asked 'What inspired you to start writing poetry?'  Thought I'd share my response here on my blog. Back when I was 9-10 years old, I gave my Mom a little book for her birthday or Mother's Day; it had a bunch of poems, with pictures.  One was William Wordsworth's 'Daffodils'.  The picture was a beautiful array of yellow daffodils that mesmerized me; the poem and the photo touched my spirit in a way that cannot be explained.  I wrote my first poem shortly thereafter.  Certainly not a masterpiece, but there began my love of writing.  Here is the poem: Daffodils by William Wordsworth I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Contin

Six months today.  Sometimes it feels longer, other times, seems like yesterday.  I miss his daily.  With the encouragement of some of my poet friends, I thought I would try my hand at a sonnet - this is my first ever sonnet...dedicated to Dad, my hero.   Each day I recollect your loving smile, those precious days before your dying breath; Sweet memories stored neatly in a pile, to comfort me when thinking of your death. Alone, together, privately to grieve, I wept and held your hand in mine, still strong; My heart did know that you'd be called to leave, I prayed with you and sang our favorite song. “Then sings my soul, my Savior God to thee’, your spirit loving each and every word; You were all ready, waiting to be free, ‘I love you, Daddy’, last words that you heard. My hero always, till the end so brave This child now thanks you for the love you gave. P.S.  I did use some poetic license; 'the last words you heard' = the last words he heard from me. 

Happy Father's Day, Daddy.. It's the first Father's Day since, well, since never... for 52 years this day has been about you. And it still is. I am thinking of you, loving you; though I cannot call, I cannot present a gift or card, my thoughts are of you. This Father's Day you are celebrating with your own Dad, something you haven't done in many, many years. You are not here physically and yet you are all around ~ in my heart, in my mind, everywhere... you. Copyright © Kristina M. Hooper, 06/19/2011          

Someone posted a challenge on my poetry site - what is your slice of heaven?  The first four lines was his original challenge, the remaining is my response.  This is dedicated to my husband, my love...he truly is my slice of heaven and has made my life so rich and wonderful.  Though not perfect, he is perfect for me.  To you, my love.  Slice of Heaven Consider your own slice of heaven what would you want it to be hand in hand with one you love  or Exploring love's mystery... to be with one who knows me, both inside and out; who knows my faults and foibles, knows what I'm about; someone to greet my mornings, an easy, open smile; someone to kiss every night, our own deserted isle. When chips are down, he's always there, with open arms and hugs to spare; through good times and bad, how two lives can blend; my slice of heaven... is my husband, and friend. Copyright © Kristina M. Hooper, 06/19/2011

As the twilight of your life unfolds and death steps in to take his hold I cling to you, hand in hand and gaze into your eyes; soon, I know, you’ll leave, then I shall grieve... until then we are one.   Copyright © Dulcinea, 06/13/2011 This is how we often saw them - hand in hand...and so they were until his end - five months ago today. I love you Mom and Dad.  

Some friends and I were having a discussion today (on facebook) about books vs. kindles, etc.  The conversation reminded me of this poem I had written some time ago.  My love of books came from Dad...he had such a vast library and I loved browsing through his shelves.  Books are a part of me.  I love the feel, the smell; they bring a comfort to my spirit and soothe my soul.  Perhaps that may sound a bit odd, or a bit over the top, but it's true.  When I am troubled, I love sitting in my library.  I love to look at the books - the shapes and sizes, the titles.  Some are old, some are new; some are worn, some are not.  But each one is special and unique.  And now that Dad is gone, my books are a connection to him.  Old Books Safe haven, rich aroma of old books, greatly comforts, soothes my soul, hard to explain indescribable solace. Copyright @ Kristina M. Hooper This is a whi

As many of you know, I started a new job about two months ago.  I'm a front desk clerk at a local hotel.  It's an interesting job and fits my personality - I get to meet new people, talk, flirt, help...Never, in my wildest dreams, did I think there was so much to learn about making reservations, etc.  Of course, as is my way, I think I should know everything already and get frustrated with myself when I mess up, or say something I shouldn't. My co-workers are patient and kind, teaching and guiding me.  I still have much to learn. However, I thought I would share a few things I have learned in the short time I've been in the hotel business:  Don't use the 'I'm new' card.  I have found out very quickly, and much to my surprise, how many people will use that card against you.  Instead of sympathy and understanding, they will try to nail you, or try to get something they didn't pay for.   I have learned to speak with authority, even though I don'

Today is Mother's Day; a day to celebrate the woman who gave us birth, the woman who loves us unconditionally and sacrifices for us on a daily basis.   This Mother's Day is especially poignant...I just talked to my Mom...she is remarkable, strong, full of strength and courage.  I hear her speak of how she is filling her days, how she feels Dad with her, how the Lord is using this time to teach/guide her...still learning lessons even now.  I simply love her.  She is a great woman, and though she may not be perfect, although she may have made mistakes over the years, she is  still a shining example of what motherhood and wifehood are all about.  Love, Sacrifice, Compassion, Care.   This poem, a nonet, is dedicated to you, Mom.  Thank you for all you've done, for all you still do.  May God continue to bless you and give you strength.  I love you with all my heart. Mom  I admire and respect you so much the little things you do, and such deep the well, you

Miss Marplestein, cute as a button So, I have two cats, or as I like to call them my 'baby girls'.  Actually, in June they will be six years old, so they aren't quite 'baby girls' anymore, rather 'young ladies'.  Factualities aside, they are and always will be my baby girls.  They are near and dear to our hearts, and have a place in our household.  They are like our children (although my husband would deny it).  And, they are strictly indoor cats.  They have only been 'allowed' outside with Mommy and Daddy, firmly in our arms. Miss Marplestein is a red tabby.  She is long and lean, and has an angular face - to me, simply adorable.  She has very meak voice, soft and sweet.  Miss M is a Daddy's girl.  She loves her Daddy - loves laying next to him, loves cuddling with him, loves sitting on his desk.  She follows him everywhere.  This morning, we're drinking coffee in bed with Miss M by our side.  We get up, have our oatmeal, and I dres

Ever since the stone was placed on his grave, I've been having a rough time.  Perhaps the stone was a symbol of finality for me.  The grief is constant, always there, and I find myself crying over the smallest thing. Then last night I was watching The Biggest Loser.  It was the 'make over' week, where the contestants glam themselves up, showing off the weight they've lost.  One of the girls was reunited with her father.  I lost it.  Seeing the love on the father's face, seeing how proud he was of his daughter, seeing them hug - brought it all home to me that I will never see that look on Daddy's face again.  I will never feel his hug again.  Not in this lifetime.  The dam broke and the tears spilled forth. What's more to say?  I miss him so much.

My emotions are high, and they are mixed.  Anger, hurt, dismay, sadness - a deep, deep sadness.  And hurt. I didn't think I was much bothered by what transpired yesterday, but when I awoke this morning my heart was heavy with such sadness.  This is gonna be a jumble of thoughts because I have so many coursing through my brain right now. First and foremost, hurt and betrayal of a nephew.  To be called such a vile name in such a vulgar way...words coming from someone I have only loved throughout life.  The sadness is deep, and try as I might to blow it off as rantings of a sad, angry person, it isn't easy.  I remember the sweet boy from long ago, and for so long I have tried to defend his actions/his anger; I have tried to believe there is still that sweet boy buried deep inside...and now?  I don't know, and what's worse, I'm not sure I even care anymore.  Horrible thoughts for an aunt, I know, but words wound deep and leave lasting scars. And then I wonder is t

"Who can explain how the mind & heart works or what the depth of love & sorrow is?" My mother wrote those words to me the other day.  She was trying to explain her reaction upon seeing the tombstone on Daddy's grave.  The words hit home, and hit hard. Who can explain?  When I saw the picture of the tombstone, I was deeply shaken.  Seeing his name in stone, and the dates, made it all too real that yes, he is gone and he is not coming back.  I don't know how to explain my feelings.  I know he is gone, but there are times when I think of him, when I hear his voice, that my mind forgets and I think he's just not 'here', not present; perhaps still in the hospital or nursing home. I arrived at work, turned on my phone to call my husband.  My sister's message popped up, along with the picture.  The tears came fast and hard...I just wasn't expecting to see his name.  And the flowers that were placed upon the marker made it even more poignant an

So, I woke up this morning with the phrase 'thrice, you've come into my dreams'.  Can't think of anything more to add, but the word 'thrice' has been in my head all day.  An interesting word, to be sure.  Just say it 'thrice'...meaning three times...What would four times be?  Is there a word?  Mmm...don't think so.  Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, have had a headache all day, but thrice I have counted myself  lucky to be married to the man who is my husband.  Yes, thrice, I have looked upon his countenance and thought 'what a lucky woman am I!'... Thrice.  Thrice. Thrice.

My oh my who do I see, hiding in the cherry tree? Mom and Dad, love still in bloom; ah, inhale love's sweet perfume! Copyright © Kristina M. Hooper, 03/27/2011 Inspired by the love of my parents, and a friend, Martin, and his Cherry Tree series... for more, visit poetsforintegrity.org

Do people realize how they can hurt with words?  How something simple can wound so deeply?  I admit to being a bit emotional; and I admit that I can get my feelings hurt easily...but be that as it may, why aren't people more careful with their utterances.  Truly, some people open their mouth and the arrow is out before they can stop.  They move on, but the wound remains...open and ugly. And I do believe that some people don't realize what they say, how they hurt.  Others, on the other hand, know exactly what they're saying and shame on them.  Physical wounds can heal.  Bruises disappear.  But the damage of words, and the power they hold, sometimes last a lifetime...and sometimes they are the deadliest wounds of all. 'Loose lips, sink ships'...loose lips can sink hearts as well.  Take heed.

   Please read the title in your best Irish accent possible...and to that add 'top o' the mornin' and 'erin go braugh'...these were favorite sayings of my great-uncle Ed.  He was Irish through and through and very proud of his heritage.  St. Patrick's Day always reminds me of him.   One may ask, 'what does pug mahone mean?'...not quite sure we ever really got a definite answer, but I do believe the definition is somewhere along the lines of 'kiss my ass'...That was Uncle Ed.  Uncle Leddy, as we called him when we were little.  He was a great man...more of a grandfather to my siblings and I, than a great-uncle.  He and Aunt Marie - Aunt Aree... The two of them were truly the only 'grandparents' any of us truly knew...my last grandparent died when I was only 6 months old, so I never knew them.  Aunt Marie and Uncle Ed filled the bill, perfectly.  Whenever they would visit, Aunt Aree would have boxes, or bags, of Chicklets

Every time you walk away I die a little death; a piece of me disappears, heart stops, as does my breath. My lonely soul held captive, imprisoned by your grace; come love, return, rescue me, unveil your winsome face. Then once again I shall live, forever in your spell; leave me not, my lady fair, close by you let me dwell. Copyright © Kristina M. Hooper, 03/08/2011  Inspired by my husband...early this morning he gave me the line 'every time you walk away, I die a little'...challenged me to write something... so, this is to my love... For more of my poetry, and work of other wonderful poets, check out poetsforintegrity.org 

It happened today over bacon, of all things. The day started out normally.  Went for an eye appointment, then we decided to have breakfast out.  I ordered my usual creamed chip beef, my husband ordered his usual pancakes, eggs, and crispy bacon.  The bacon, of course, was for me.  We were laughing, chatting, enjoying the time together. Our meals came out, and I ate one piece of delicious crispy bacon.  As I moved on to the next, I thought of Dad.  I thought of how much he loved bacon; and how one of his last meals was bacon.  My husband attempted to cook him bacon, but even dying, Dad knew his bacon, knew good bacon from bad bacon.  Dad's critique of my husband's bacon was 'mediocre, not quite as good as Mom's'.  All of this came flooding back in an instant, and the tears started; I couldn't drink my coffee, I couldn't talk. The lump in my throat felt like my chipped beef had just stalled and wouldn't go any further.  Then I started thinking of his

When Daddy was in school, the nuns used to say to him 'Thomas, Thomas, you're wandering the misty flats'...I thought of those misty flats the other day and wrote the poem below. This is for you, Daddy. Wandering the misty flats, searching high and low; what do I seek, here and there, I do not even know. Something pulls my soul to roam the meadows far and wide; a constant ache deep within, a need I cannot hide. Her mystery speaks to me, dark secrets are revealed; upon the moors, solitude, where heart and mind are healed. As I wander misty flats, your presence feels so near; alone I walk, wrapped in love, with nothing more to fear. Copyright © Kristina M. Hooper, 03/08/2011

Thursday, Mom will leave here and return home, to her empty condo, loneliness.  She is scared and nervous, yet feels Daddy is calling her home.  I awoke this morning with the first lines of the poem...this is for Mom. emptiness where you once were remnants of our life your easy chair the lonely bed we loved as man and wife i wander now through every room touching this and that your laughing pig your hearing aids your favorite coat and hat all i have are memories these walls don't feel like home scattered pieces everywhere your're gone and I'm alone Copyright © Kristina M. Hooper, 03/08/2011

A friend of mine wrote the following poem and it touched my heart; made me think on all those friends who are treasures in my life. Treasures People are treasurers who often cross your mind, who in your life have shined with warmth of love, spark and light. No matter how long since you have met, each one is a cherished gem who gleams and glows in memory, bringing special measure to each other as lifelong treasures providing fulfilling pleasures.  a.t.sole'ful copyright Martin 3/2/01  You can find this poem, along with many other wonderful poems, at poetsforintegrity.org.  Browse the site with a 5 day honorary membership.  A great site with many talented poets.  Check it out.  

I am told that people grieve individually...no one grieves in quite the same way as the next person.  I am finding this to be true.  My one sister seems to cry all the time, can't stop.  I, on the other hand, haven't really cried since the funeral.  Does this concern me?  Yes, it does, to a certain extent. Do I feel guilty because I haven't cried?  No.  I know I loved my father tremendously.  I know we had a beautiful relationship and I have no regrets where he is concerned.  What I have a 'problem' with is that I don't seem to be feeling anything at all.  I see my mother's emotions...I see her cry, and I am not affected at all.  I'm not even sure I'm missing him right now. Up to the point when Daddy died, I always imagined I would be a total mess at his death, and afterwards...like my sister.  These emotions, or lack thereof, confuse me - but having never dealt with a death so close, I don't know what to expect.  Some say that perhaps my dis

Thinking of 19 January, the day we buried Daddy... Today we put you in the ground, church bell chimes, the only sound; with angels gazing all around, your resting place here is found. We listen closely, preacher speaks, each in sorrow, comfort seeks; as gentle tears flow down our cheeks, thoughts of you, the years and weeks. Courageously you passed your days, filled with love and tender ways; lone trumpeter, as Taps he plays, honors you with thanks and praise. The flag upon your casket crowned, folded neatly, tightly bound; loved ones passing by your mound, moments frozen, so profound. Eternal peace at last you've found, today we put you in the ground. Copyright © Kristina M. Hooper, 01/30/2011

Tomorrow I am leaving you.  I will leave this condo, full of you and your 'stuff', with a heavy heart.  For I know the next time I visit, things could be different.  This could be the last time I see parts of you - your closet, full of your clothes; your office, full of your books, your pens, your piggies, your holy relics...all those things that made you YOU, that made you the wonderful husband, daddy, poppop, friend you were.  All these pieces of you that are making it so hard to leave.  There will always be a part of you here, and this is where I will come when I want to feel close to you.  You are gone, but you will live forever here...and so goodbye, Daddy, I am leaving you tomorrow.  I love you.

It's 3:00 in the morning and I can't sleep, I'm missing you so.  Yesterday was the first day without you, the first day I couldn't see you, or pick up the phone to call you.  I drank my coffee out of your piggy mug, I wore one of your sweatshirts...but those are just things and hold nothing of your love or warmth.  You have been here all my life; what do I do now?  This is a new phase and I'm not sure how to handle things.  I do realize that I now have two fathers in heaven I can pray too; but I would rather have you here to give your wisdom, your thoughts, your hugs.  So what's it like up there?  Did you see PopPop and Grandma?  Noni and Grandad?  Did you see Grammy and Aunt Wawee, Aunt Marie and Uncle Ed, Jack and Arline, Ed, Bill, Sam, Chris, Joe?  What do the angels look like, and more importantly what does the throne of our Lord look like?  Did you see us there, crying over your body?  You waited till you were alone, then left...I wonder why?  Did you h

Below is a poem I wrote a couple years ago when Dad was in the hospital...rather sums up what I'm feeling right now...the poem is called 'Sorrow'. Lonesome whistle sounds, slowly down the track; and in my heart I wonder, will you be coming back? Lonely whistle haunts, speaks unto my soul; a grieving deep within, which no one can console. Kristina M. Hooper

So many memories are floating through my mind these past days...memories of my Dad, and just how he seemed to always know what I needed: I remember when I broke up with one of my boyfriends (which was probably in answer to Daddy's prayers!), he came over to my apartment and sat with me, consoled me and held me while I cried. I remember when the engine blew in my malibu classic.  The repairs went on for months, and Dad insisted that I handle everything myself...he said it would teach me to stand up for myself...it surely did. I remember when I had my first accident, sliding on ice.  I got to work, called my Daddy, crying, saying I didn't want to drive home - asked if he would come get me;  he said 'no, if i come and get you, you'll never drive in snow/ice again; you need to get back in the car and drive home'...as always, he was right. One particular Christmas I was having a very rough time - just very sad and depressed; I wanted an Oxford Dictionary, but kne