One Day, One Lifetime Written about my Grandmother Emmie

She was to me a beautiful and mysterious woman, although I never knew her.
I have always felt her spirit alive within me.
Emmy’s hair was jet black and her ringlets fell past her ears halfway to her smooth, white shoulders. Her dark brown eyes exuded kindness and humility.

She was only twenty-six when she died, leaving her husband and little son to go on without her. That little boy is my father. Through the years I saw pictures of her and listened to my father reminisce about his mother, recalling the memories that only he had shared. I would always get a yearning in my soul to sit with her and touch her beautiful face and hear her sweet voice as she read to me. She was my grandmother, who left this world way too young and without knowing me, her oldest granddaughter.

One day could never be enough time to discern the meaning of her existence and what it would bring to my life. Yet, if there could be one day, maybe a full twenty-four hours, I would take her hand in mine and walk with her through the memories of her own short life. I would ask her to sit at her graveside with me and tell me of her childhood, her life with my grandfather and about her son, my father.

I remember the stories of how she died. She had gangrene, and in those days there was not much that could be done. I would ask her how it felt to die in the arms of the man she loved. I would listen to her voice as she told me of the love for her six- year- old son and how desperately she wanted to live for him. Her voice, a sound I have never heard, would be filled with emotions that only she could know and that I desperately need to embrace.

Maybe we would stroll down the dirt road she lived on as a young girl and talk about her childhood. As she talked, I would picture her sitting at her mother’s sewing machine making simple dresses fashioned in the time she lived. Those times were tough and the family was very poor, and the desperation of her life would be on her face.

Then I would show her the postcard that she had written to my grandfather in 1936 while she was in California and he and my father were still home in Louisiana. The circumstances of her trip were very sad. Yet, I would ask her anyway because the postcard was written while she was sitting with her sister-in-law who was dying. The postcard was written in pencil and was addressed with only the town and state on it. She told my grandfather to kiss A.J. and that she would be home soon. She died six months later.

Before the day was over, I would sit close to her with my head on her breast, as a child does. I would breathe in the smell of her skin and save it in my memory to last forever more. I would tell her how much I missed her while I was growing up. I missed the hugs and kisses that are only meant for a grandmother. That I needed her as my father needed her. I would show her pictures of her son as he grew to be a man. While I was telling her how proud she would be of him through all the tough times of growing up and moving from one place to another, I would see her wipe tears from her eyes. Tears of sorrow for a life cut short and a journey never taken. Then, I would show her what a handsome man her son turned out to be. She would smile when she saw the pictures of his accomplishments, being dressed out in his football uniform in high school and later in life, his own family.

As the day ended I would ask her “What would I have called you? Is there anything you want me to say to your son? Would you like me to hold his face in my hands and kiss him once more from you?”

Then as we parted, never to come together again, I would wrap my arms around her and hold her like I never got the chance growing up. I would hold her for my grandfather, my father and myself.

One day, one lifetime, gone forever, never to be forgotten.

By Debbie Aycock Williams 2007
copyright 2007

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Lone Lilly

My little Lilly growing all alone

How smooth your velvet petal

One day your shining in your glory

Next day your almost gone

I love to see your soft delight

Your sense of dewey love

There is a freshness that dawns for me

In morning's early light



When you were my little sister
Sometimes I didn’t like you much
You were a brat, and ratted on me
When I thought I knew it all

Even though you got spanked
It was a fun ride huh?
Golf carts required no license
So why should that Barracuda?

I always wondered if the keys would
Ever be found
I didn’t tell you then cause
Besides being a brat you tattled

But then we grew up and went separate ways
You grew into a lovely young woman
You were still my little sister
But not the brat I once thought you were

We’ve shared many moments together
Stumbled and fell, yet never failed
To be there for each other
Sisters are that way

My prayer for you this special day
Is to see life come full circle
To know your worth is measured
In the kindness you bestow

We share that special bond
Only sisters can attest
To understand, not judge, just love
No matter how we fail

So be happy, enjoy the rain when you
Hoped the sun would shine
Change only if you want to
Sometimes roses bloom in winter.

By Debbie Aycock Williams 2008

I love you,
Happy Birthday

copyright 2008


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How to treat others.............


The leaves are gone and bare branches solicit the heavens The warm days are spent, lingering blades of grass Glisten from the morning frost Seeking absolution from their iniquities. Ensuing eradication wounds the external covering And when they have relented at last The hope of resurrection rests in the seed That was scattered long ago. By Debbie Aycock Williams copyright 2009

Chloe's and Joleigh's graduation from 6th grade......Katie graduated from 5th Congratulations girls!


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Life's not the breath you take..........Oh my God, they take my breath away!


Kathryn how do I describe the overwhelming pride you bring to my heart?
When I think back to that rainy night you were born until this very day that is
Filled with sunshine and happiness, accomplishments and expectations of what tomorrow holds, I remember a precious first grandchild, What excitement ensued.

From the time you pushed the front door open and went head over heals down the steps and we spent half the morning in the emergency room. Of course you were fine and I was a wreck. The hours we spent reading and playing will always be memories I cherish like no others. Memories of birthday parties, a scared little girl going into the operating room, Christmas and Easters at Granddaddy ‘s and Mama Kitten’s, vicious bathtubs, special times of doing nothing but being together. There are memories here: Toys you played with, books you read, notes you wrote and pictures you drew; Saved in a box with your name on it and They are all here in my heart, the same heart that is filled with love and pride for you Kathryn, For all you stand for, the caring, loving, kind woman you have become. You are one of God’s gifts to me. I love you.

written 2009 for her graduation 2010 Now that she has read this

in her yearbook, I can post it on my blog! I love you Kat!


Widget available from writingdramatica
As I walk through my garden I touch the tiny leaves
Of my lonely rose bush

It stands all alone, by itself
No other nearby

The hibiscus grow profuselThey entertain each other with colors of purple and white

And mix together as the wind blows
Back and forth

But my little lonely rose bush
Has no other to share its quiet beauty

Only the bees occasionally fly by
And my fingertips when I feel the velvet petal

Someday soon, I shall plant another rosebush
So my lonely rose won't stand alone

And when I no longer walk through the garden
My little rose won't miss my loving touch.

By Debbie Aycock Williams

Copyright 2007