Dear Mother,
I want to tell you how lucky I am to have such a wonderful friend in you.
You’ve shown me such strength, and I knew you would guide us down these difficult roads.
My heart goes out to you.
My loss seemed great—but insignificant compared to your loss.
I know how much you love Dad,
and I can only hope to find a love like yours.

I’m content to have known the love in our family—
the love that keeps my heart full as I move through this life.

You’ve held our hands
and guided us through our darkest times.

I keep thinking about how I will carry on
with this empty feeling of our loss.
Still, I hope you find peace, now that his pain has stopped.
His suffering is over.

He told us about the place that was prepared for him.
His faith empowers us all.
If there’s a heaven—he will be welcomed.

We must carry on.
Your strength is the power of love.

You told me:
The love we knew will never diminish.

You told me you didn’t dwell in the past,
but if you could go back,
you’d go back to have more time with Dad—
six years ago, before he was sick.
We were so happy.

I thought about this conversation
as I traveled back to California, brokenhearted,
with your words still in my head.

I was inspired by your love.
So please know—these words are from my heart.

Your loving son


Six Years Ago

Six years ago
I told you
I did not dwell in the past—
but now,
I want to travel back.

One life was good.
You chose to go.
Six years ago,
I would like to go—
for just one last
glance at you,
your shadow cast.

But now I’ve found
that time has passed.

I love you, Dad.
Maybe these memories last.

Such love you gave—
no effort shown,
with open hands,
the love you’down.    

Faithful without restraint
My loss—God’s gain.

So hold him close
where we once did.
His life, for you,
he did give.

Yes, I’m dining alone.
Thank you, fine sir—
This table I’ve known.

I take in the room,
Parties fill every chair.
Happy couples swoon;
I see their sad stare.

Yes, I’m dining alone,
Not by choice—but by fate.
The lonely diner atones,
Sits quiet, in place.

Christian nationalists have crowned Donald Trump
as their new Christ—
because he is everything the first one was not.

Jesus was poor.
Trump is rich.
Jesus was meek.
Trump is a bully.
Jesus lost.
Trump obsesses over winning.

If Donald Trump and J.D. Vance met Jesus today,
they’d ridicule him—
a single, childless hippie
preaching peace in sandals.

They’ve rejected the Sermon on the Mount.
Turn the other cheek?
They scoff—
“That got us nowhere.”

To them, love is weak.
Mercy is soft.
Kindness is woke.

They look down on Jesus
because he was poor,
because he forgave,
because he didn’t fight for power.

How did we get here—
where loving your enemy is weakness,
and loving your neighbor is radical?

They scorn the teachings of Christ—
not because they don’t understand,
but because they don’t serve them.

Christian nationalism isn’t about Jesus.
It’s about the pursuit of power.
And power is their only god.

You say—
You don’t agree with me.

My opinions are heard
Engage until enraged
I’m using my words

against you.
I’m  speaking the truth
Based on facts
and you’re not using facts.
You’re repeating false claims

I’m speaking truth.
Not to win—
but because it has to be said.
Because silence
lets the lie live longer.

And when I am in power—
if I’m wrong,
then use my words against me.
Hold me to them.

I hope you do.

Because I speak the truth,
and truth must be heard.
Even when it hurts.
Even when it turns on me.

Let the record show:
I stood on truth.
So use my words—
not to destroy me,
but to remind me
who I said I was.
hood

If today were my last, I’d live with no regret,
Embrace every sunrise, every sun that’s set.
Reflect on each step, each joy, each pain,
In the dance of life, sunshine and rain.

Each breath a treasure, each heartbeat dear,
I’d savor the moments, hold loved ones near.
With laughter and love, and tears that fell,
In the story I wrote, I’d find farewell.

For life is a journey, a winding road,
With burdens shared and kindness sowed.
So if today’s the last, my heart would say,
I’m grateful, I’ve lived well, come what may.