Rob's Poem

Desperately I cling

Unto reality defined

But always

My grasp falters

And as the autumn leaf

Withered crisp and dry

Falls slowly spinning

From the tree standing steadfast

So must I

Fall into the depth

Of all that is not known.

Rob wrote this poem in high school. I have a xerox copy. The poem is under a picture he drew.

My first response was to ask myself, "These are images in MY son's mind? Where was I?  Why did I not have a clue?"  Here is a profound statement of a young man connected with his Soul's longing. Was this always this way, or did these images reveal themselves to him as a teenager. As I look back on our lives and at what I know about him, and of his other  creative expressions, I suspect he was born to live in the depths of life -botrn to stand in the seering presence of the Mystery that life finally is - born to have suffered deep wpimds and fin it find the poetry to name the ineffible.

Robert A. White, Age 44.

How did the old TV ad put it  - the one that showed at 10:00 pm? "Do you know where your children are?"  I confess, I did not know. I have heard it in his music, especially in playing his harmonicas and guitar. I have felt it in his angry rages. I have appreciated his thoughful gifts and cards on special occasions. Still, it is a miraculous wonder to me that I should be privileged to discover this ever so sensitive part of my own son. Pulling this out of the archives of family memorabilia was an awakening moment.  I hope I get to know more of my son's great depths - at least a taste of his deep truth. I hope. I hope. I hope.

When is a time that you were able to connect with someone very special?

What did you find you have in common?
How do we honor these great gifts of our children and of their children?