Reflections - cover2

Diary 1978-1981
Seconds in Time
Fall 1978
If one could catch the precious moments of total happiness in the midst of all the chaos and extend them into a lifetime, it would be
paradise.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Looking up while cooking supper, I caught a glimpse of such complete tranquility and peace that I was stunned. A balmy fall evening, late
sunlight through browning leaves, Kate sitting on the top step with little arms around Skippy’s shaggy neck; a quick lick of a long pink
tongue to an apple cheek. Piper bent over her drawing paper at her makeshift desk, her beloved white cat lounging in the open window
above her, tail trailing down across her paper, swinging in the long, slow arc of feline contentment. One quick swoop of Piper’s arm and
they were nose-to-nose – I could see their profile against the delicate fall sunset – “Oh Chloe, I love you!”
It seemed that time was standing still for me to savor the fleeting perfection of that moment, a frozen frame of time, an image of
childhood that I shall carry forever in my mind.
I know now with crushing certainty that I will never be able to give them material security, but if I can provide them with a few such
perfect moments of love and caring, it will be enough.
It has often occurred to me that people fail to find happiness because they think of it in the long term – days, months, years. It comes and
goes in mere seconds, but they are enough to make the rest worthwhile.
Death of Tripper
Spring 1979
“Oh Mama, Mama, I heard his bones pop and crack. It was loud! it was terrible! Oh Mama, I heard it!”
White faces, little eyes round in disbelief and horror. Then Jason running, running down the driveway to the clinic with Tripper in his
arms – his shaggy little head limp and founding at each step. Blood, blood on this shirt, his hands. “Papa, Papa, Trippers been hit. Do
something, something, please! He’s just knocked out, isn’t he?” Anxious faces around the examination table. “No son, he’s gone. He’s
Opposite, sketch of Lillard residence and clinic
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