Patricia May Thomson

August 31, 1939 – May 7, 2026

Mom and Me in White rock, B.C.

I will always miss my mom and hear the sound of her laugh. She had a few different kinds; the laugh that said she didn’t believe a word you said, a laugh that found someone’s audacity ridiculous, then there was the real joyful laugh that was two notes with a lingering smile. My mom was the youngest and prettiest of all the moms. When she took her first grandchild to the mall, everyone thought it was her baby. She loved to sing along to George jones and there was ONE song she played on repeat until one of my siblings secretly hid the record. This Poem is for my mom:

A Poem for My Mother

Her hands held
Soft, newborn heads
Five of them.
Her young heart 
Full of Joie de vivre
Was hardly prepared
For her burdened knee.
Shoulders bent to tasks
Meant for one much older
She lived true 
To her bewildering sacrifice
Until she was no longer.
 A laugh, a cry--what's the difference
within one's life?
While the moon and sun continue to rise

Still here. It’s been quiet here at the blog. Even on my social channels I haven’t been interacting much. I certainly haven’t been creating brilliant thoughts or beautiful pictures I want to share with the world…which leaves me feeling a bit disconnected. But I could say I’m feeling more connected with myself. That’s not a bad thing.

God Stole Pink From the Sky Today

When I heard the news
You’re gone forever,
Sister, I stared into space
Shocked and in pain.
 
“God stole pink from the sky today,”
Is all I could think to say.
Your favorite lipstick color
Imprinted on my brain.
 
You used to say “Get on your broom
And fly over to see me.”
We’d laugh at our absurdity.
 
It’s true I looked to you
For comfort of your familiar face.
Maybe we didn’t always agree
But we turned to each other in times of misery.
 
Maternal losses only sisters comprehend.
The gravity of life, the frustration of not being heard
Again and again.
 
Your laugh always preceded you
Announcing your arrival in any place.
“Deb’s here,” we’d say—“the party can begin.”
 
Know that you are impossible to forget
The twinkle of laughter, the cry of your tears.
We went through this life together
Like a spiral still connected
In those empty spaces
Turned into years.

 God stole pink from the sky today
But soon I will see you in each and every sunset.
Raspberry-red wine, cloudy and glowing
Mirrors your memory
Forever in mine.
-LT-

My deep condolences go out from my heart, to my two nephews and one niece, in addition to three grand-nieces and one grand-nephew.

Photo by Gaelle Marcel on Unsplash

I wrote this months ago and have hesitated in posting it until now. I can’t say why except that it’s putting a piece of my heart out here.

I think that’s called being “vulnerable“. Here goes.

Even though my friend passed away over a year ago, his memory is often with me. Every once in a while, I’ll see an older man on the street and think of *Craig. Then I’ll remember some random thing he told me or some funny mannerism of his.

We’ve grown up only to learn Cinderella’s carriage was a pumpkin to begin with.  Our foot never fit the glass slipper.  Sleeping Beauty ate a bad apple and maybe we took a bite from the same one.  We’re not in Kansas anymore!  Learning the fairy tale doesn’t always have that happy ending is a hard lesson, even for cynics.