A SHADOW OF A LIFE by Deborah Gibson Taylor

Prologue

1954

Just off Highway A1A, near St. Augustine, Florida, on a cold December day, a rusted, worn out ’48 Oldsmobile Straycat Convertible with its V-8 engine roared like a rocket into the red clay, earth-packed driveway in front of a shotgun shanty. The warped brakes screeched loudly as the shuttered and stopped. The sky, the color of pewter, looked ominous and foreboding with the dark clouds pregnant with the promise of rain.

The tired young woman threw open the heavy car door and stepped out. A cold wind coming off the Atlantic Ocean reminded her to pull her collar up to her earlobes for added warmth. The trim figure was neatly dressed in dark blue work overalls, with crisply starched creases, her name neatly embroidered in pink on the white background of the oval label, right under the Grumman Factory name.

Shivering, she reached beside her on the front seat and drew the large, wriggling, blue-eyed baby boy close to her heart, giving him another kiss and reassuring hug while sliding a blue hand-crocheted blanket over his black curls to protect him from the cold.

Once out of the car, the diminutive woman balanced the cherub-faced boy on her hip, readjusting the blanket each time the wind blew it off. Still clutching her precious bundle in her arms, knee bent, her small foot flat against the car door, she quickly slammed it shut.

With a steely look of determination on her face, and her last small burst of energy, she cautiously made her way up the wooden steps carefully avoiding all the rotted boards and stepped gingerly onto the weathered, dilapidated front porch.

In response to her urgent knock, the screen door already half off its hinges, with patches stitched on it as neatly as needlepoint, made a loud, protesting screech as the drunken, unkempt, middle-aged man threw it open.

“What the?” he said startled to see his pretty, dark-haired ex-wife at the door with the youngest of their four children in her arms. Standing there in front of him, Barbara had such an innocent doe-eyed look about her it almost made him wish he hadn’t divorced her.

But before he could say anything more, his Mother, a large, rotund Russian Orthodox Jew, lumbered up behind him. Looking with sheer contempt at the pretty young woman standing before her, she opened her arms wide and grinned at the beautiful, robust baby boy, all the while cooing at him.

Mo recognizing his beloved "Babushka," takes his drool-covered fingers out of his mouth long enough to give her a crooked smile, flashing several pearly while teeth on the bottom row, then pops them back in.

“Here!” “Take him!” “I can’t take care of him no more, Jim,” the look of sheer desperation on her face. “ I’m workin long hours now, and what with you not givin me any money, I can barely feed the other three as it is.” “So, here!” Barbara burst into sobs as she thrust eighteen month-old Mo into his paternal grandmother’s eagerly awaiting arms. The baby now startled by his Mother's loud voice begins to cry.

Barbara’s voice softened a bit looking at the toothless, old woman showering her youngest grandson with hugs and kisses, murmuring something reassuring to him in Yiddish, the only language the recent immigrant knew.

“Jim, I know your Mom’s never liked me much, but I know she loves Mo.” “She’ll take good care of him,” she said more to reassure herself than anyone else.

Sobbing, she leans over and kisses Mo on the head, habitually rearranging one of his wayward black curls one last time.

Running off the porch in tears, she glances over her shoulder and shouts “I love you, Mo.” “I’ll come back and git you as soon as I can!”

And, with that she climbs back into the still-running Olds, puts the car in drive, and sped away as quickly as she came, leaving a cloud of red dust and a part of her heart behind.

Copyright © 2006 Deborah Gibson Taylor

Reflection

Did you ever wish you could simply start over again? At anything. Life, for instance. Maybe that's why some people choose to believe in reincarnation because they want a chance to do it all over again, but this time do it right? I can understand why they want to believe it. Ever heard the saying "hindsight is 20/20?" Whoever said it wasn't kidding, in fact, they were right on. As you get older, it's such an amazing discovery looking back at your own personal winding "roadmap" that is/was something called your life. So many wrong turns in the bend, so many wrong choices. Sad, really. Some lessons are hard to learn, no? But, then again there were several MAJOR right ones, too. For example, my divorce, although nearly twenty years overdue, not for one minute have I regretted it. Then there's NOT accepting a transfer to New Orleans in 2000. I must admit I'm glad I wasn't in Hurricane Katrina, right in the midst of all that chaos and devastation. But now all the wrong choices are categorized as "regrets" in my mind and they are bitter pills to swallow. Perhaps the greatest one of all is how I've used my time. In the past I've been so willing to give my time to others, others who either haven't appreciated it or couldn't have cared less. So, now it's time I concentrate on what is most important to me and that is my writing. It's time to brush off the dust that has been collecting on my novel and finally get it finished. It's time to set up the scenes for my second one, and do the research for the trilogy of books I plan thereafter. Hmmm, all of it neatly stored away in my brain, patiently waiting for the time to birth it. From the pangs of remorse I've been feeling lately, somehow I think it's way overdue.

She's Not Me!

She's Not Me!

You can reach for the moon,

hitch your wagon to a star,

then run as far

as you think you can from me

still no matter how much you wish it to be...

she's not me!

She sprinkled stardust in your eyes,

but my love can mesmerize.

Go ahead try and flee

all my haunting memories,

but just remember...

she's not me!

She may touch you with her voice

that's totally your choice,

but what can really set you free

is your depth of love for me

and just remember...

she's not me!

By Deborah Gibson Taylor Copyright 2006

Trust In Him

Drink it up, soak it in.

Where life begins, where life ends.

Don't be afraid of the great unknown

God's forever on His throne.

So lift your face to Heav'n above,

always basking in His love.

Peace He gives, Peace He brings,

try and not worry 'bout anything.

For God is with us from beginning to end,

all my trust I place in Him.

Copyright © 2009 Deborah Gibson Taylor

"Miracle" by Christian Artist Darlene Zschech

MIRACLE

Never give up, never give in

Never look back

C'mon now my friend

You're not alone

The hope of tomorrow is calling

There's a brighter day

On the other side

But it's up to you to put back on your stride

So get up, step out, live it

Honey don't you give up

It's time for you to start to breathe again

For the sun and the moon have never stopped

Shining on you my friend

I know you feel the world has passed you by

But the greatness in you is starting to rise

Faded dreams need to be recoloured

I know you've had it bad

But it's time to dream again

Write it down my friend

Make it plain Oh yeah

That desire you hold

It will see the light of day

There's a beautiful day

On the other side

But it's up to you to put back on your stride

So get up, step out, live it

Honey don't you give up

What's it gonna take for you to see

That it's only the grace of God

That will set you free

What's it gonna take for you to

Open up your eyes

Look beyond the skies

Faded dreams need to be recoloured

I know you've had it bad

But it's time to live again

Write it down my friend

Make it plain oh Yeh

That desire you hold

It will see the light of day

Never, never, no never give up

Time to breathe again

Time to dream again

This desire you hold

It will see the light of lay

Never give up, never give in

Never look backC'mon now my friend

You're not alone

The hope of tomorrow is calling

Sunset

Sunset

At dawn, I waited patiently on the Eastern shore,

and felt the sea spray on my face, hoping.

But, you never came.

At noon, I looked for you with shaded eyes

and a heart full of love, beyond the blue horizon, praying.

But nothing

At dusk, with heavy heart like the sinking sun that settles in the West

over the ocean waves, it came to me.

You would not come now, or ever.

At night, as clouds veiled the quartermoon with darkness,

it was then I realized with great sadness

what could have been was gone now and forever.

Copyright ©2009 Deborah Gibson Taylor

Beautiful Thought

What greater thing is there for two souls, than to feel that they are joined for life-to strenghthen each other in all labor, to rest on each other in all sorrow, to minister to each other in all pain, to be one with each other in silent unspeakable memories at the moment of the last parting..




by George Eliot

HAPPY EASTER!

HE IS RISEN!

HAPPY EASTER!

+

BELOVED

Beloved

Don't punish me for loving you,

for such cannot be helped.

Don't be angry or abuse me,

for a torment Fate has dealt.

I'm at the Hands of Mercy,

no other will ever do.

My heart sold out, betrayed me,

that someone, Love, is you!

Say you spare me from the anguish,

protect me from the grief?

But I say it's far too late,

our love was far too brief.

For I loved you before this disease,

I loved you from the start.

And now is such a cruel time

to break my heart apart.

Don't punish me for loving you,

by pushing me away.

Just hold me tightly in your arms,

and forever with me stay.

Deborah Gibson Taylor

LOST GIFT OF TIME - HAPPY BIRTHDAY MELISSA

For those of you who know me personally, you know what a tragedy happened to me over ten years ago. Due to undescribable circumstance, I lost my youngest daughter, Melissa, and my oldest grandson, Jacob, not to death but to TRUTH. There isn't a day that goes by I don't mourn them, yet I've finally learned to smile again, am actually able to look at pictures without the stabbing pain in my heart. Her birthday is March 9th, the same as my Mother's. This original poem, written by me, is dedicated to her. Happy Belated Birthday, Baby!

Gift of Time

I've grown old and weary

in your defeaning absence

waiting for your presence.

And,I am disappointed.

At every turn, and every bend

I hear your voice, see your face

Full of beauty, full of grace.

And, I am reminded.

Often I tremble, my hands shake

Recalling fond memories of you

but always old ones, never new

And, I weep.

My heart is heavy, my eyes tear

when I realize dearest daughter

how much I miss your laughter,

And, our lost gift of time.