An Old Letter

An Old Letter
© Meesa Caudill


You could see the anguish in the handwriting,
shaking hands with each stroke of the pen.
You didn't have to look into his eyes
to see the pain he was in.
His despair is there on paper,
ink smudged from drops of tears
from the eyes the light disappeared from,
his soul weary for all those years.
I could tell from the letter he was exhausted,
so tired of putting up a fight.
All he needed was a glimmer of hope-
to have some faith, see the light.
I was the one he trusted to read it,
years before his light went out.
To read of his struggles and stresses,
to know his unselfishness without a doubt.
In some of the lines I see anger
and bitterness from a life unplanned.
Regret ate at his soul from the inside out-
he felt as if he were less of a man.
Even after reading it I tried to tell him
what a hero he was in my mind.
To him, he was a failure.
Misery the only thing he could find.
I blamed myself for taking away his youth-
my existence stole his dreams, his light.
I know his absence isn't my fault
because I had become his life.
His letter was written in darkness,
a man wanting so badly to be free.
But I know to this day he loved me so
because of the letter daddy wrote to me.

A Gyspy's Goodbye

A Gypsy's Goodbye
© Meesa Caudill


Fingers cramping from gripping this steering wheel-
legs are numb, gas pedal's the only thing I feel.
Broke off the rear-view, can't look back now-
making you part of the past, gettin' out of this town.
Saying goodbye was just too hard to do-
easier to pack my bags and sneak out on you.
I left a note on the bedroom door,
telling you why I can't do this anymore.
I was a coward, but your tears are too much to bear-
and if I looked into your eyes I'd never go anywhere.

So I'll follow my heart and see where the blacktop leads.
I can't give you all of my love, you can't give me what I need.
Now it's just me and my demons on this dark, open road-
running away from love again because of my gypsy soul.

They say to follow your heart and it won't steer you wrong-
but each time I follow it I end up alone.
Maybe this old soul is just destined to fly-
'cause when love gets too close I tell it goodbye.
Should've been a trucker as much as I run-
get too close to my heart, I'm like a bullet from a gun.
I always take off before I know where to land,
no destination in mind, completely unplanned.
It's better this way, you'll find someone new,
one who can give the love I could never give to you.

So I'm following my heart to see where the blacktop leads.
I couldn't give you all of my love, you couldn't give me what I need.
Now it's just me and my demons on this dark, open road-
running away from love again because of my gypsy soul.

Where the Grass Grows on Tears - Survivor of Suicide

Where the Grass Grows on Tears
© Meesa Caudill


We talk to stone and spill our hearts,
not knowing whether we're heard.
Many regrets, unspoken goodbyes,
lives left behind filled with hurt.
Flowers and trinkets and tokens of love
placed with care on the ground.
Praying that one day our loved ones can rise
and see that we still come around.
We cringe on anniversaries,
flashbacks of moments frozen in our minds-
the last words they spoke echo in our brains,
the pain never erased with time.
Photos make us smile, but also make us cry-
videos tear us apart.
Wishing we could just touch their skin,
hear their voice, reanimate their heart.
But instead we're left here wondering
about the what if's, how's, and whys.
Wishing we could have just one more day
to convince them to save their own lives.
No chance for goodbye, no more "I love you's",
just lots of anger and pain through the years.
You left us here to sleep for eternity
in the land where the grass grows on tears.

©Meesa Caudill

4 years, 6 months, 3 days...

Not one day has passed, not ONE, that I haven't thought about my dad.

Not one week has passed that I haven't had at least one dream with him in it, be it a nightmare or bittersweet.

And not one moment goes by that I don't wish with everything in my still-broken heart that he was still here.

It's been four and a half years now. The pain is more tolerable now, or at least I've learned to live in denial like a pro. It still hurts though, even if it doesn't feel like it's killing me. It's only unbearable when I really allow myself to think about the details. I don't do that very often. I still hear that I need professional help to deal with it, even though it's been so long now. And a few months ago I finally allowed myself to admit that those who have told me that are right.

Often times, before I write one of my notes, blogs, or statuses about him or my son, I wonder if people are sick of reading about it. I don't understand why I even care. So many times throughout my days, I walk around with a smile on my face or trying to make jokes in order to make everyone around me feel good. I try not to show my true emotions because I know most people don't know what to say and it makes them uncomfortable.

So many times I've wondered what he was thinking in the split second before he pulled that trigger. I know he was arguing with his mother about my mom. Was he angry? Was he hurt? Or was he just so sick of the bullshit that he just didn't care anymore? Did he think about me? Did he think about what he was doing to my mom, my sister, his grandchildren? Why didn't he leave us a note? He knew he was going to do it. Why didn't he call?

And so many times I get angry with everyone. I'm angry at almost his entire family. I would go through and list everyone and my reasoning behind it but I won't allow myself to do that. I'll wait until I can afford a shrink to go through my list one-by-one. All I can say is that I hope each of them feel the pain I do, tenfold, every day. No matter how much I love them, I blame them for my dad not being here. I know that a psychiatrist will assure me that I'm just fucked in the head and there's no one to blame but him, but I will always see things differently.

I wonder who will walk me down the aisle if I ever get married again. I don't even know if I'll ever be able to without him. He always said he wouldn't "give me away" twice. Guess he wasn't lying.

If I ever have another child, he won't be here. He left when I was pregnant with my son and that kills me. Didn't he even want to meet him if I had made it to full term? Did he think we'd be better off without him???

Although it's been over four years, the pain has become more tolerable but the questions remain. And the anger... the anger sometimes sears through me, so much so that I feel like I could burst into flames.

I am angry at the world.

Growing Up and Saying Goodbye

"“Doing all the little tricky things it takes to grow up, step by step, into an anxious and unsettling world.” ~ Sylvia Plath

I just went to the visitation of a man I went to middle school with. He was the husband of my best friend from my teenage years. He was murdered five days ago. Tomorrow I will go to his funeral, pay my respects, and say goodbye.

What happened to the adults we were supposed to be when we were younger? None of us were supposed to die before we were 80. We were all supposed to be rich and successful. We were all supposed to be invincible. We were all supposed to be healthy and happy until our silver years.

So many people from my yearbooks are gone. Taken away by death. And so many of those who are still breathing have been taken away by drugs. So many who will never have children. So many who will never see the children they do have grow up. So many who will never know their full potential, or what could have been. So many who have let their lives go because of that buzz, that warmth of the drugs that invade their systems, that money that comes with selling those pills, weed, crack, etc. When we were kids, we were all gonna be rock stars. We were supposed to be doctors, lawyers, scientists, engineers, the first woman president...

Now there are so many who are buried, behind bars of a jail or prison, or trapped by addictions. So many of us that didn't come to meet our full potential. So many of us are lost in dreams of what might have been had we taken the road that we were 'supposed' to.

Now I sit here wondering what happened to those youngsters who dreamed of fame, fortune, and success. I wonder at what point did we give up and give in to the people we became. I wonder when the moment was that we realized that those dreams were just us grasping at a reality that was just impossible so we became who we are today.

And I'm left wondering, yet again, about what happens to the human soul once we are breathing no more.Do we get to witness our own funeral and burial before going off into the unknown? Do we 'rest' and await judgment day? Do we immediately go to the gates of Heaven and meet the ever-so-famous St. Peter? Do we get to meet God at the moment we take our last breath? Is there a God? What's He like? Is He the mean, punishing God that we read about in the First Testament of the Bible, or the forgiving, loving, understanding God that the New Testament portrays?

For the rest of my life I will remember those who've passed on as forever young. They will never have to deal with getting old, losing more loved ones, disease, tragedy, the aches and pains each passing year brings our bodies. They will remain the age they were at their last breath for eternity. I may cry because I miss their presence but I do not cry for the dead. I cry for those of us they left behind to mourn, to grieve. I cry for those that are hurting and not sure where to go from here. I cry for those who will miss out on cherished memories they could have had with those that have passed. I cry for the babies who will miss their daddies. I cry for those little girls who will never have their daddy there to walk them down the aisle when they get married. I cry for the mothers they left behind that ache to hold their children just one last time. I cry for the friends and loved ones who will no longer be blessed by the presence of those we hold so dear.

In memory of those lost along the way... may they always stay forever young.

Lee Adams - 12-6-1992
Tedman "Ted" Allan Birchum - 16 years old - 8-20-1993

Jay Chappell - 16 years old - 5-17-1994

Brandon Odom - 16 years old -  5-17-1994

Brad Johnson - 15/16 years old - 1995

Ike Davis - 18 years old - 4-20-1999

Aaron Mills - 22 years old - 4-20-1999

Shane Kimberling - age?

Shane McCormick - 31 years old - 7-10-1999

Laura Webb - age? 

Richard Quesenberry -  8-16-2008

Brian Smith - 2010

Rocky Adams - 33 - 1-4-2011

There are so many more that I'm sure I'm forgetting. Please let me know if there are any I should add.
May they rest in peace and God bless their souls.

"It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived." ~ George S. Patton, Jr.

My Dream (RIP Ike Davis)

I had a dream last night
that you were still alive.
You were standing near me smiling
with a twinkle in your eyes.

You told me that you loved me
and I said I loved you too-
we embraced in a warm hug
and I told you how much I missed you.

You told me you were worried about me
because it was me that just got shot.
But I told you I was doing fine,
when in reality I'm not.

I told you I couldn't believe you were here
because you died so long ago,
but you said you hadn't really died-
you just had somewhere to go.

As we hugged one last time
I awoke to reality.
I looked around the room for you
but your face I did not see.

I realized it was just a dream
and that you were really gone-
my mind has understood this
but my heart just won't move on.

I still picture you at 13 years old
back when I saw you all the time-
and my heart always looks for you
although you are gone in my mind.

You were always my baby brother,
or least in my eyes-
and now when I remember those days
I can't help it but to cry.

I wish it could have stayed that way
and maybe you wouldn't be dead-
and I could see you again every day
and not just from the dreams in my head.

Friends Forever... Or Not

Deep conversations about
the meaning of life.
our future plans.
Who we want to be.
Where we want to go.
And our dreams.

Driving around town
doing nothing at all.
Seeing everything.
Talking to no one.
Yelling at everyone.
And getting nowhere.

What we said was
best friends forever.
Soul sisters always.
Water doesn't need a type to match like
blood does.
You'll be my friend for eternity.

But now you're gone.
And we see each other never.
Talk no more at all.

And I miss you-
my best friend.

I Hope

I hope you're happy-
you broke my heart.
I hope you're satisfied-
I'm torn apart.

I hope your days are bright
while mine are filled with rain.
I hope your body is numb
while mine is filled with pain.

I hope you're having fun
while I cry myself to sleep.
I hope you're really in love.
Oh, God, it hurts so deep.

I hope you're in paradise
while I'm in a burning hell.
I hope you're thinking of me,
but if you were you'd never tell.

I hope your dreams come true
while mine are being shattered.
I hope your soul is at peace
while mine is torn and battered.

I hope you're wondering
what it's like to meet death-
and I'd tell you if I had the chance
but I now take my last breath.

I hope you have the chance to know
what it's like to say goodbye
to someone that you've loved for so long.
Goodbye, boy, I hope you cry.