Mama Bear Standing Down

Some things have happened in Rose’s life recently that have tempted me to step in,

but that is NOT my place anymore.

Rose is an adult now.

It is time for her to handle her own issues without her protective mama.

Any time I think about getting involved I ask myself,

what would Rose do if I did this?

The answer…

She would be furious with me for stepping in.

So Mama Bear is stepping down.

Rose can handle it.


Fear by Phone

I have enough fear.

Thanks for calling.

I will not be scared into voting for you or not voting at all.

I will not answer your calls.

I do not listen to your vicious, fictious warnings.

I know who you are.

I know you will stop at nothing to win.

Fear may work on others.

I have had enough fear to last a lifetime.

You won’t get my vote,

but I do have some hate with your name on it.

Don’t call me anymore.

I have all ready voted.

Not for you.

F*** your fear.


Rescue Rose

Her heart is breaking again. There is no stopping it.

She feels the pain of others.

I do not know whether to blame DNA or MOM.

No matter. It happens and happens.

Shared suffering.

One friend has a family emergency, another is dying, no water in Yemen.

She feels it all acutely. More than empathy.

Instead of thick skin she has no skin.

Intimately connected to the ebb and flow of others.

Highly sensitive people have no filter. They feel it all.

She will steadfastly stand with those in pain.

If I built a wall around her, she would bring it all inside.

It’s not sweet or noble. It is who she is. It will hurt her.

My Rescue Rose.

Our Haunted House

We have all done our best.

We respect each other’s space.

No one is in charge of anyone else.

Cohabitation. Coexistence.

We thought we were doing well, her dad and I.

But Rose says she can’t come home.

This house is full of ghosts.

Fear ghosts, seizure ghosts, sickness ghosts, struggle ghosts,

stains of sadness in every room, the carport, the yard…

We are not allowed to change anything in her room/The Rose Museum,

but she says can’t come back here.

I hate to admit this, but I get it.

The pain is still here, lurking but fading

in this haunted house.



Stepping it Up

I hate to admit this to you. Especially you.

I wanted to step back. Take a break. Catch my breath.

But that is not what has happened. You have left the battle.

It is required that I STEP IT UP. The girls need me!

There are still struggles. There is still injustice and bias.

I can’t rest now. You need me to keep working.

So back I go, into the fray.  Fighting for attention and help and understanding and equality.

I cannot leave the battle. I have a daughter.

So another old lady warrior gets back on the front lines.

I’ll do my best. Bless you RBG.  



Stop The Music

When Rose was in eighth grade band, the middle school band was invited to join the high school band to play during a football game. Rose sat with all the other trumpet players in the band section of the stadium.
Rose’s father and I sat in the adjacent section where we could keep an eye on her. We were concerned because Rose hated loud noise. We had instructed her to take out her tiny hearing aid while the band played. This hearing aid was red and the size of a kidney bean. It cost thousands of dollars and was not covered by insurance.
At some point during the first half, we noticed a disturbance where Rose was sitting. She was having a seizure. I rushed down to her side. The band director gave the other band members the okay to go take a break. This made it easier for the EMTs to get to us. Rose stayed unconscious for quite some time after the seizure. Her dad went to get the van and drive it up to the back of the stands.
It was about then that I noticed that Rose’s hearing aid was not in her ear. I searched around her. There was no little red bean. I went through her pockets. No bean. The EMTs joined in the search. We made quite a spectacle. Unconscious Rose, her mama, and a bunch of men in uniform scouring the empty stands.
The band members returned from their break. The band leader asked if I minded if they played some music. The music resumed. Rose aroused. A group of men helped haul Rose up the stadium steps to the van. As I followed them up the steps, a woman tapped me on the shoulder and asked “What were ya’ll lookin’ for down there?” She was curious about the lost item, not the unconscious girl. I guess asking about Rose would have been rude.
When we got Rose safely into the backseat of the van, I informed her dad that her tiny hearing aid was missing. I searched her pockets once more. Tucked down in the corner of her jacket pocket was that tiny expensive bean. I was so relieved and happy.
As we drove away from the school, Rose’s dad turned to me and asked, “Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?”

Seizure Mama speaks to parents:

It may be futile to try to keep your child’s seizures a secret. Rose’s condition was known to everyone at church, at school, and out in the community. We never tried to hide her epilepsy. There was no point in it. It went with us wherever we went, whether we liked it or not.

Your Present Our Past

I awoke thinking of you. You are on my mind.

My struggling mothers keep reminding me of our past.

You are where we were, that hard place, that dark tunnel.

Preparing for hospitals and tests. Trying new drugs.

Hoping with all your heart that this will stop the seizures.

You may be in different states and across an ocean, but we are right there.

Your messages take my breath and make me cry.

I feel your pain and know your angst.

I wish I could help. I have no advice. All journeys are unique.

Just know there is Another Mother who gets it.

Your present is our past.

My sincere hope is that all our futures are seizure free and worry free.

Seizure Mama/Flower Roberts