My Grandmothers

 In life I had two grandmothers
As precious a gift one could get
Grandma, I can’t remember 
Oma, I’ll never forget.  

Grandma died when I was young
Oma died when she was old
Grandma lived far away from me
Oma was the one who lived close

Though I can’t remember my Grandma 
She lives on in her daughter, my mom  
I have only to look at my mother
To see what Grandma would have done

Oma was never closer 
Than she was to my dad, her son
She treasured him and he cared for her
Until her life on earth was done

Not only the women who gave birth to my folks
But the women who taught them to live
And those life lessons my parents passed on to me
Are because my grandmothers took time to give

I wonder what these two women
Are doing now that they are at home
Are they sharing stories of the good ol’ days
Are they watching over their own

If I could pass along one message 
To the women I wish I could see 
Thank you! Grandma and Oma
For who you became to me

© Ruby Neumann


Poet's note: Written by Ruby Neumann, December 30, 2018.  The 12th anniversary of Oma’s passing. Grandma died when I was 7.  Oma died when I was 38.  









Persephone

There’s an old ’79 Ford LTD
That retired years ago
Her home a Saskatchewan prairie farm
Midst other motors that have gotten old

She doesn’t look like much anymore
Her driving days are done
Maybe forgotten by many
But redeemed by only one

He gave her to a young friend
When she was still alive
Said “ Take her out and enjoy her 
Bring her back when her days are nigh”

She was given the name “Persephone”
For the Greek Goddess of the Underworld
She was black, had no air and was a beast
But was the first car, this friend ever owned 

The car then died and was brought back to rest
On the farm of the one who redeemed her
And there she rests with others redeemed
All because of a compassionate farmer 

It was October 2018
When the friend came back to see
This ol’ girl now retired on the Saskatchewan farm
The LTD she called “Persephone”

It was the farmer that she came back for
To say a hearty good-bye and thank you
For he was going where God’s redeemed go
Because his days on Earth were through

That ol’ car is a reminder 
That when this life has cashed me in
That there is a Redeemer waiting
To take me home again

© Ruby Neumann

Poet's Note:

Written October 3, 2018. This '79 Ford LTD has a special place in my heart.  It was my first car.  My second vehicle, but my first car.  I got it for one dollar and the stipulation was... "Drive it till it dies and then bring it back to me."  So I did... and it died and it now rests back on the same yard I drove if off of the day it was given it to me by "the compassionate farmer".  I took this picture and wrote this poem the day before his funeral.  

Thank you Armindo!


Growing up in Heaven


My story started on the Earth
With my mother and my dad
Two lovers came together
To create the life I had
It took me several months to grow
Life unfolded within my Mom
And then the day came when I emerged
My time inside was done
Did I catch my first breath on the Earth
Did I see my mother's face
These are questions I can't answer
Because I awoke in a different place.
Why Earth is not my home now
Is a question I didn't ask
I've been growing up in Heaven
In the home that is my last
My family is abundant here
And there are beautiful places to dwell
This is the best kept secret
That only God will tell
I have family on Earth
And they want me there with them
Their happiness would have remained
Had I not come to Heaven
The only answer I can give
Is what I hope my family will know
I was created into a broken world
That still waits to be made whole
If I could give my family anything now
To help them persevere
Joy is what I would leave them
For I have it in abundance here
There’s hope for the ones I left behind
Earth's not the final destination
My home will soon be theirs some day
And I wait with great anticipation

© Ruby Neumann

(image taken from "The Shack" movie) 

Poet's note: 

I wrote this October 17, 2018 after seeing a picture of a baby in my extended family that is "Growing up in Heaven".  I would really like to believe that God's Paradise is full of children hanging out with Jesus in beautiful flower-covered meadows. 

 Some children learn stories about Jesus, sitting on Grandma's lap.  But imagine the children that are "Growing up in Heaven" and it is those children that are get to sit on Jesus' lap and hear the stories first hand.  

Not a Grave to Grieve

“Where do I go to remember you now”
In a frustrated poem I wrote 
When I saw the trees mowed down that day
On that most painful road

I may not return to that country drive
To remember him for years
But last year I made in my own yard
A home for my undrying tears

A garden of beautiful wildflowers
Tamed by my shovel and hoe
Round the tree stump that he cut for me
To remember is where I go

I may sit for only minutes
Or stare as the hour runs by
That garden round the tree stump
Is where I spend my time

When there is not a grave to grieve
Our heart can still find a home 
To dwell, to heal, to come to terms
When we find ourselves alone

So if you need a spot to dwell 
There will always be a space
Just go to where you shared life
And you will find it in that place

© Ruby Neumann




































Poet's Note: 

Last year I dug out the ground around the stump that remained from my crabapple tree that was cut down in 2014, thanks to my nephew.  That stump and the surrounding garden has become a place to remember him.  I needed something that could grow and be a reminder of him.  Something that still had life.  This was it.  The stump may be dead, but there is life all around it. 


Journeying with Jesus

Daddy, we’ll remember you now
With laughter and with tears
We will share your life and your journey
As we look back on your many years

We are grateful for the farm 
Where you raised us to be strong
We are thankful for the lessons learned
That taught us right from wrong

Your character gave us direction
Your passion gave us hope
We knew the value of a hard day’s work 
With joy we learned to cope

Your love for our mother was the greatest gift
You treasured her above all 
Together you were our home and family
And the reason that we stood tall

Your love for us lives on now
As we pass it on to our own
The grandchildren you loved are also blessed
Because of your heart that we called home

Daddy, we love you and we miss you
And we will for a very long while
But now you’re journeying with Jesus 
And we know that will bring us a smile

© Ruby Neumann


Poet's Note: 
This was an inspiration I shared with four children, who were  childhood neighbours, in honour of their dad's passing.  Written July 2018


Following the Joy

I'm following the joy 
Out of my sorrow
I'm choosing to hope 
For a brighter tomorrow

I will play now 
Remembering
I will smile now
Rejoicing 

I can remember now
Without the tears
I can pick the daisies
Enriched by the years

I'm following Jesus 
Out of the abyss
Leaving the sorrow for
The joy that is His

© Ruby Neumann


Poet's Note: 
June 2018, found me wanting to climb out of valley of sorrow.  I wrote this with the hope that it would resonate in my soul and I would indeed follow the joy. I have found that most moments of sadness are being crowded out by the presence of joy.  They still come, but they don't stay long. Joy has a powerful presence.  



I will not go easy into this night

I will not go easy into this night
Sleep will not come
My heart will not find rest
Until the day is over 
And the memory of you 
And what happened this night
That year 
Is passed again
I will not forget
Ever
But as the day passes
Life continues the journey 
And I will go on
Until this night comes again 
Next year
And then, as I have done tonight
I will lay awake
Waiting 
Until the night and the day are over
One more time

© Ruby Neumann


Poet's note: 
The tragedy happens and a year passes, and just when the nightmare starts to subside, the anniversary of that night comes.  This poem was written January 2018,  just after midnight of the first anniversary of my nephew's death. 




The Empty Seats

This Christmas, the family will gather
As it has done this time each year
Nothing stops the gathering
Of the hearts from far and near


The table will be set for dinner
With a feast of goodies galore
There will be a lot of food, cause at Christmas
We always have room for more

This Christmas will see our sorrow
Because there are seats that won’t be filled
It’s those seats that once held the ones that we love
But they aren’t here, as we would have willed

Our hearts are lost without them
But it’s our hearts that still need to belong
To the family that’s left behind to grieve
For the family that is gone

As we gather around the table
Our eyes glimpse the empty seats
It’s joy we need, but we doubt it will come
Because of our grief and tears

Those empty seats at Christmas 
Will be there till eternity comes
But there is hope for us that they will be filled 
At the coming of the Son

And then we will gather with a Family again
At the most amazing Feast
No doubt then, Joy will be there
Because there will be no empty seats

© Ruby Neumann


Poet's note:
Christmas 2017 rolled around and I tabulated the significant losses of friends and family of the year and came up with six faces that had wouldn't be filling seats at a Christmas dinner table.  My nephew, my aunt, a cousin,  the lead singer of my husband's band and two long-time friends of the family. There were a lot of empty seats at the 2017 Christmas tables.  This poem was written just days before we sat down at that table. 



Without the Willows

It was in that place
Where the pussy willows bloom
On a country road 
Where I found room

To grieve and to cry
Because you were taken from me
It was a place of peace
Born out of tragedy

Trees in a ditch
Are the gravestone I found
For some unknown reason
There isn’t another around 

But my last drive through
Found those trees cut down
Cleared without mercy
Now your gravestone is gone

Without the willows 
It’s not the same somehow 
So where do I go
To remember you now

© Ruby Neumann 

Poet's Note: 
This poem was written after my last visit to that country road that inspired the poem "Where the Pussy Willows Hide"   After seeing that the county had mowed down all the willow trees in the ditch, I wept.   All that remains of those willows is the pictures I took and now I have no desire to go back. 

Where the Pussy Willows Hide

There are no flowers
To mark the place
There is no cross 
To remember the day

On a lonely road 
Where he breathed his last
Nothing proves he was here
Nothing proves he passed

But there in that spot
The willows grow
Along that country drive
Midst the March fallen snow

Soft grey buds of spring
Emerge to bloom
And for a breath of time removing
 The despair, fear and gloom

In a moment I smile
In that place where he died
Because it’s in that place
Where the pussy willows hide

© Ruby Neumann



Poet's Note:
In March of 2017, I found the pussy willows.  It was at the accident site where my nephew died.  I had been out there in January before the funeral and found a lone pussy willow that I picked and took with me to the funeral.  It was my gift to place on the casket.  But when I returned in spring, they willows were in full bloom  That place became an oasis for me during the year.  I would often drive through and be in that place.  I have kept the pussy willows from that first year.  They are a reminder for me how beauty can rise out of death.