By Lynne Johnson
Two angels…each sat upon my weary shoulders
Whispering in my ears
One with a seemingly passive aura,
Neither moving nor bending to either way
Letting his past
Wash over him like a thick, slow cloud
Carrying him down the dark stairs to silence
The other charged forward like a phoenix, rising up and
Out of the flames, time and time again before the fire was too hot to be contained
One… quiet, patterned, reserved, accepting, cautious, waiting… frightened
The other pushing, pulling, manipulating and tearing at the flesh of sickness..frightened
Two angels I held up beside me
Listening to their whispers and their shouting
Hoping to be strong enough to endure the loss…
as they slipped away like grains of sand through my yearning, longing, outstretched hands…
Both…rose up and left the earth in a swirl of air
Loved beyond compare
Nothing any of us would do could help to keep them here
We thought we would be able to ward off the devil who was constantly scratching at the
surface with his draining, weary, gripping contagion, but…who do we think we are?
We are nothing.
We are only left with the ashes of their brilliant, blazing, glorious, burning fires.
In loving memory of
Paul R. Johnson June 28, 1947 ~ November 12, 2019 (age 72)
Nancy Girard February 19, 1959 ~ August 11, 2020 (age 61)
Cancer Wife 
Amazing and sad and beautiful 😍
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