Author: GennaClaire

the house that love built

~ GennaClaire ~ Leave a comment

Weren’t we supposed to love each other? Weren’t we supposed to rub noses and dance in our underwear?

What happened to us? To forever and ever? To first and always? To brighter skies and better days?

We took turns tearing it down. Ripping apart the house that love built nail by nail. Shingle by shingle.

Maybe we were angry. Or lost. Maybe we were scared. Maybe we were even brave. But before we knew it, we were broken. We were broken beyond repair.

Scars grew around our wounds. Twisted like ivy. Heavy as an anchor. And so we sank together to the bottom of the sea.

At the end, I looked at you and us and yawned. I looked at the past and the future and winced. So I called you up. And I let you go.

Weren’t we supposed to love each other? We did. To rub noses and dance in our underwear? We did that too.

Then we lit our love on fire and watched it burn to the ground.

But from the ashes, something else grew. Not for us. No, no, no. We were long gone.

But among the wreckage and the mess, the smoke and the  glowing embers, I learned a lot about love. I learned how to give. How to fall apart. How to hold back while still letting go. I learned love is neither a battle or a war. It does come easy. But it’s always hard work. I learned that even pain is beautiful. That the good memories are forever worth the bad.

There were six years. Many fights. Endless regrets. But I walked away with my heart in tact. And l have learned to love again.

love, it takes all kinds

~ GennaClaire ~ Leave a comment

There are people who marry for money. And I think they’re in love. They love security. They love a lifestyle. They love comfort.

And there are people who marry for looks. They’re in love too. They love beauty. They love watching others stare. They love showing off.

There are people who love for stability. Because it’s easy. Some for simplicity. Others for complication.

Love is not right or wrong. Not weak or strong. Love is precious. No matter why we fall, our love is perfect. Love is always perfect.

my mema

~ GennaClaire ~ Leave a comment

My Mema. She taught me how to set the table. Forks on the left. Knives and spoons on the right. Every meal was served with a fruit tray and a vegetable platter. A pitcher of sweet tea and hot butter rolls.

My Mema. She left us last Friday.

She showed me the difference between camellias and jonquils and magnolias and azaleas. She pointed our hummingbirds and mourning doves and finches and buntings.

My Mema. She left behind her a husband of 61 years.

She made homemade peach ice cream and lemon icebox pie and homemade hot fudge. She whipped up pot roast and fried okra and Reuben sandwiches. She showed me how to make caramel icing. She chuckled as I complained about burning my cake layers.

My Mema. She left behind two beautiful, perfect sons.

Growing up, she kept plastic smurfs in the bathtub for the grandchildren to play with. When she moved to a retirement community, they took residence in her shower. She took us out to pick blueberries in yellow buckets. She watched over us as we swam in lake. She let me bring coloring books to church.

My Mema. She left five heartbroken grand children.

She would save bows and bags and ribbons and tissue from Christmas wrapping and reuse it year after year. She had a lovely, warm southern drawl, using words like yonder and reckon. She was tough and sensitive at the same time. She was smart and witty. She was polite, dignified, gracious. 

My Mema. I thought she’d be here forever. I wasn’t ready to let her go. All southern grandmas are special, but mine was perfect. My Mema was just perfect.