The Park

Since the death of my father, I made it a habit to walk in his favorite park every Saturday, something we always did together. Sometimes we had a catch, until one day his hand slipped, and the ball landed in the lake with a splash, and people chortled and pointed. That’s when I knew his Parkinson’s was getting worse. Soon after, he was unable to do the things he loved, gardening being one of his fondest.

I stood by the lake and listened to the children playing when I saw something float by.

It was the ball from our catch.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Beauty Of Life

Walking through the park's garden, the fresh scent of grass and flowers soothes me. The leaves are slowly blowing in the breeze and the chipmunks race around the path.

Children are laughing and playing baseball while their parents proudly watch, and it reminds me of my own childhood summers, playing catch with my friends while my father coached us on our throws.

I wish I could go back and be young again, but I can’t change time. I’m elderly, brittle and fortunate to be able to walk at my age.

This is why I’m thankful for the beauty of life.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Miracles

Steve wasn't one to believe in miracles. He understood too well the depravities of the human heart. More often than not he was victim to the world's machinations. That's how fate had led him to the streets.

So when the woman offered a hot meal, he expected some sort of catch, likely in the form of a lengthy sermon. When she offered a warm bed, he called to mind images of harvested organs and sexual servitude. When she claimed through phony tears to be his mother, he fled at the first opportunity, certain it was another conspiracy plotting against him.

My Proudest Moment

The river was calm, and the fish were biting. I wouldn’t dare tell my father I hated fishing. It was our time together. I watched as he baited his hook and threw it into the water.

“Isn’t this nice, Son. I really enjoy our time together.”

“Me too, Dad.”

I swung my rod into the water and within minutes I got a bite.

“Reel it in, Son. That’s it. What a catch! That’s a big fish you got there.”

I looked at my Dad and his face was beaming.

I’d always remember how proud he was of me that day.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving. A time to appreciate loved ones.

Sitting on the couch, smelling the delicious aroma of the turkey, George watches his grandchildren play Monopoly with his son, Tom. The laughter of their tiny voices brings joy to his heart. Watching them brings back memories of his childhood, fishing with his dad and his proud voice when he made his first catch.

The meal finally makes it to the dining room table and Tom will do the honors of slicing the turkey.

George’s aide helps him to the table. He sits and savors every moment, knowing this is his last Thanksgiving.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher