Sweet Balinda Ballou Poem by Bill Galvin

The best of family and friend,
Our Dear Deb would call you often,
Or you’d call her, to chat up the latest,
Or to discuss the deepest, and the spiritual.
She loved those tender touches of her Texas branch;
Life long connections you had since you were teens.

Our Deb would still refer to you
By your older, lyrical name “Balinda Ballou”,
With her excited voice, “It’s you! ”, when you rang in.
And when the call was done,
(An hour or three later… wink, wink)
I know, on this end, she always felt fuller,
And more grounded.

Thank you for checking in on me yesterday;
And for the time on my tribute journey spent
At your and Steve’s ranch in Mineola.
It made me so fulfilled to have you and family
See the Celebration of Life service for Deb,
With all it’s fine eulogies; such lovely goodbyes.
She would have been humble, but happy, to see it.

So, you found out about my poetry…
And now a song for you… so well deserved.
You just don’t know how much
Deb respected and loved her cousin Balinda.
It’s why you were mentioned in the service.

Thank you, too, for sharing your grief with me.
The loss of our Deb being magnified in you
By the loss of your mom a few short months before.
She, who made such a generous gift of that ramp;
And brought tears to both of us last summer.
We used it often taking Deb out into the fresh air.
I’ll never forget that gesture, Balinda.

When I told Deb of your mom’s passing,
Of course, she could not speak or move,
But she did roll her blue eyes slowly to the side
To reflect upon memory of her loving aunt,
And say her silent prayer in her own way.

I’m so sorry that these two grievous losses
Resurrected painful scars from losing your son long ago.
You and I have that in common, too;
And there is always something there for the lost child;
The unrewarded future; the potential gone;
Never knowing what they would have become.

They are all, Deb, your mom, her mom, reunited now.
But, of course, we must reconcile the losses
Down here on this plane, and in our own daily lives;
But, we have our personal God, and one another.

Keep your senses open for the next Angel,
As they drop in and out of our lives,
Sometimes silently touching our shoulder.
Remember, too, in times of deep sorrow,
The single set of footprints in the sand are not yours;
They belong to your God,
And he is carrying you.

Please know, dear cousin Balinda Ballou,
That we’re only a phone call apart;
You can check in on me, but I’m here for you, too;
If you ever want another heart-to-heart.

Deb would like that. Yes, she would.


6-30-2015