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T. D. Smith


​Author of Sci-Fi, Fantasy, and short fictions.

My name is T. D. Smith.
I love writing, reading, and crafting stories! 
You can read some of my stories here!

In Loving Memory

4/13/2022

1 Comment

 
Picture
Hallie Closed Her Eyes


Hallie closed her eyes

And felt pain.

Then, shadows crept in,

Took form and shape.

Every sin ever committed by her 

Came back,

And the demons danced about,

Gnashing their teeth,

Flailing their hideous limbs,

Wailing, lamenting,

Re-enacting all the evils 

She’d ever seen,

Experienced,

Done,

As fell actors in some heinous play.

Hallie was afraid. 

How long would this last?

Then,

Suddenly,

A burst of light. 

A warmth.

A figure both a column of light and of vaguely human shape.

It stands,

Facing them down,

Undeterred by any evil,

Spreads its luminous wings,

Her protector,

And says to them, “No.”

It fends off the shadows,

Wards the wicked winged ones away,

And as smoke vanishes,

So too, they vanish.

Now there is nothing but light and warmth. 

But Hallie is still afraid.

The being embraces her, and carries her.

Simultaneously she is an infant again,

Being borne away in the arms of a loving and much larger parent,

And she is herself, 

But can walk again, 

And is holding this being’s hand

As they walk

Together 

Up some gently sloping corridor

Toward an even brighter, warmer light. 

The light spills forward, 

Benevolent and warm,

From some opening nearby ahead.

A voice:

“Do not be afraid, Hallie. 

Come,

Enter, my good steward,

For when I was naked you clothed me,

When I was hungry you fed me,

Thirsty, you gave me drink,

Stranger, you took me in,

In despair, you comforted me, 

Sick and you cared for me.” 

And Hallie is confused,

Not knowing when she had done these things 

For a being, 

Radiant,

Regal,

Benevolent,

Like the Man who is now solidifying before her in that Light.

(But her loved ones knew,

We still know.

Her children know,

Her grandchildren know,

And the ones she helped,

Showed kindness,

Love,

Know, too, and always will,

Eternally,

Just like the Lord standing before her,

Smiling,

Arms outreached

To greet that warm, faithful soul,

Who has been waiting for so long bedridden, patient and kind.)

She now takes His hand,

And with that, 

Takes her final breath.

The pain is gone.

Hallie is no longer afraid.


She steps across the threshold with Him.

Light, beauty, wonder, Love, 

Beyond her wildest comprehension, 

Is there. 

Fills her soul.



Numerous people

Greet her in that place,

Whose walls are taller than she can see

And golden,

Whose halls seem to reach out 

And continue forever.

They embrace her,

Some fall before her and kiss her feet.

(Again she is confused.)

For the first time since her youth,

The anxiety,

Always in her bosom,

Causing her to worry ceaselessly,

Dissolves,

Melting away,

And disappears,

Forever. 

She realizes

That pesky cough,

The one she had

That lingered,

Stayed with her, off and on, relentlessly, for years,

Is gone.

And finally,

Her soul rejoices

And happiness beyond imagining

Emanates through, around, and in her very being.

And then, 

Turning around one corner or another,

Comes another one,

Bright, radiant, 

Motherly.



“Mom, 

You are just in time.

It is perfect timing, 

You coming here now. 

In the West, 

It is Holy Week,

And your passing

Coincides,

Participates, 

With our Lord’s going to Golgotha.

In the East, 

Next Week is His Passion,

And Pascha

Is soon to be celebrated!

Come with me,

And taste the Paschal bread

We are preparing

For the Feast of Feasts.”

And together, 

Hand in hand,

Mother and daughter,

Old friends,

Walk forward,

In a company of Hallowed elders,

Into that kitchen,

From where wonderful smells,

Sights,

Angelic singing, 

And warm hearth,

Greater than the greatest she has ever known,

And far more real than anything in this gray realm,

Await.

Together they go 

And enter

Into the Eternal Celebration

Of His Light and Life.


In love and honor of my grandmother, Hallie Simpson (1939-2022)
  • May her Memory Be Eternal

​
1 Comment
Raymond Peters link
10/6/2022 10:30:44 am

A itself century again right so. Back relate with per.
Finally new easy it two. Power around light crime start. Experience few record voice.

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