Finding Home

Shuffle of feet Rustle of leaves Swaying palm trees Dance of tongues Strum of guitar Songs sung off-key but borne from the heart Light rain, gentle sound Sand, grass, ground The Pacific-- silent then loud Walk, wade, swim, dive Meet her majestic crest Hold your breath Paddle, paddle Then rise, glide and fly. Sabang Daguitan Surf Camp Dulag, Leyte

Dear Garret,  On Mother's Day 2007, you were still 2 years old then. It was a quiet day. A lonely one too if I recall correctly. I remember thinking that as a Mother's day gift to myself, I would buy you a set of bible stories. So I would have a chance to teach you some beautiful lessons. Of course at that time, there was already a nagging of sorts in my heart as to why you weren't responding like I expected you to or were supposed to. Your eye contact was fleeting and you didn't like to be touched, just to name a few. But I still continued to read you stories hoping that by simply forign on I can break through your walls.  Now the rest of this story is history. The years have come and gone. Doctors, teachers and therapists have blessed our life. Now some days you say to me, "Sto-wee." In the early hours of the morning or as we retire to bed at night, you hold my face and look at me with a gaze no longer fleeting but with a sustained look I can