Jac Winters

To Say Goodbye Again By Jac Winters October 7, 2017 You lost them all in a blink, left standing, not knowing what to think. The only one left—it just isn’t fair, your mind heavy with the burden. “I’ll lift it, dear child, it’s not yours to share.” You want to take their place, just so, in transition, you can see their face. That’s not in God’s plan; He never made you strong enough to bear the weight, even though you think you can. They’re all gone, and here you stand, with begging eyes lifted skyward, wishing. Rain crashing down to the ground, your mind plays tricks—they’ll be there, just turn around. Your stomach aching from what you miss, with a southern drawl you hear in the tree, a serpent slither and crawl: “They’ve left the poor boy, no medicine will fix this,” he said with a sly hiss. Heart heavy, soul lost, spirit worn, no need to worry, my child, they’re not so far, even though you think they are. In this life, you feel so mixed up, it doles out so much, it runneth over… that cup. In this life, you’re tossed about, you want to be stronger, you think someday you’d have more clout. In this life, we’re left feeling empty, maybe it’s the feeling the reaper left after his swift, cold entry. We want to put it all back in place, hide the yoke of loneliness, even though to others our sadness shows upon our face. I want to say goodbye again—oh, please, with tears streaming down my stark face. I want… to say hello again? No! I want to say goodbye again, because we know it has to end. Time is our enemy, not our friend. To my good friends who took their life, they were so empty, there was nothing left. Just a “hole” where He built “you” one day, and in it placed all your parts, one of them was a soul. Dear God, I pray, let me see them one more time, to walk through those big wooden doors when the church bell chimes. My arms long to hold them, hug them, love them, see them play in the grass, just to have that one last chance to get my fill, to see them all together in one special place. With joy, I would shout, I would spin—what a thrill! But when you say goodbye one time, it cripples even the strongest of man. I’ve made you sturdy enough for one such blow as this, so even if you prayed with all your might to have one more dinner at candlelight, another boat ride or paraglide, to live, to laugh, to cry with all of them by your side. Even if you mustered all your strength, or conjured up every ounce of will to pull you through, to say goodbye again would kill you.

Underneath Everything This watch belonged to my father, the man who adopted me. As the years went by, there were some rocky times, like there is for all of us. I was battling memories I didn't yet know how to live with. Some of my actions were nothing more than momentary lapses of reason. Nothing too serious. Just a young man lashing out at the world now and then, making decisions that would eventually force him to choose how he wanted to live the rest of his life. When I received my CDL certificate at twenty-one, I called my father. He was the one who encouraged me to choose the road as a life. I remember how proud he sounded when he heard the excitement in my voice. I was on my first trip, the first of many to come. I called him from Salmon Arm, British Columbia, with a load of swinging pork bound for Provigo Grocers in Montreal, Quebec. Back home, my old room in the basement had remained open through most of my preteen years and until I left home. While we were talking, Dad was sitting on a sawhorse. A stud was lying on the floor, perpendicular to the outside wall. He lifted it and found some tri-folded pieces of looseleaf. Some poems. A few pieces of short prose. Things I had written and forgotten were there. While we talked, he said he did not want to tell me he had read them. Then he got quiet. After a moment of awkward silence on the phone, he spoke. “Son, I'm very proud of you. I know we've had differences. You've been distant, and you were never much for talking. But it looks like you've been bottling up a lot.” He paused again. “I know you're living one of your dreams, driving truck. But for some strange reason, reading these, I thought: This boy of mine has another dream.” He told me his hands shook a little as he read them. There was something eerie about the words, he said. Something underneath them. Something under the skin. I had never shared it with him or mom. But somehow, it was coming through in those words. Then dad said something I would carry much farther than any load I ever hauled. “I've got a funny feeling you have another dream, and you need to realize it. Even if I'm no longer here, I'll be watching to see you come through on that promise you made to yourself in these pages. I would like to have mom place them in an envelope so you can retrieve them the next time you roll through. Whatever story it is you need to tell, tell it. Maybe someday we can talk about it again.” We never got that someday. When Dad died, I was handed his watch and that envelope. It was still telling time. For years I barely looked at it except to change clothes, and I never looked at the hands. I carried it with me everywhere, until one day, at a rest area, I decided to really look at it over my steering wheel. Those hands stopped long ago. I never replaced the battery. Maybe part of me wasn't ready to. For years, I battled the things I'd buried. I drove the miles. Lived the life. Made mistakes. Got back up. Kept moving. But the other dream stayed where dad had found it all those years before. Underneath everything; waiting. Nearly half a century after some of those first words were written, I finally told the story I had spent most of my life carrying. It took nine long, hard years to put it all on paper. And when I was finished, I picked up my father's watch. I brought it to the jeweler, who placed a new battery in it. In that moment, there in the jewelry store, I froze. The store owner watched as I remembered in silence, hearing the echoes of my father’s words through the phone. The hands began moving. Now the dream was set in motion again. Finally, everything has come to fruition, for me. And for Dad. Now the stories are in the hands of the people I love, the people who have read them, and there for the people who haven't found them yet. Someday I won't be here either. But the words will. Dad's watch is keeping time again. So am I.

I love it.

When The Night Comes She turned once more and the room held its breath— Froze in the frame of her leaving, knew the hinge would close without a second chance, that the door was the only invitation left. No time to waste in the quiet that followed, only the weight of what stayed unspoken, The needs I could not meet, the steps I did not take, the version of her I watched dissolve into memory. When the day comes, It will still show the smile, the heart, the life that brushed so near— a place I might have stood inside if I had spoken before she had gone quiet. But a night came, Where her real hour began, and every hour she lends is just that. Her presence carelessly spent— Not a place to keep, not a claim to hold, just a light that passes through and leaves the shape of what she was never told. When the night comes, Remember the sound of the door- you will. The look that asked without asking, and the silence that answered by staying still. Take what is given while it is still given; the rest becomes only the echo of a chance that required nothing more than to be met. Her presence is borrowed. Now it will not stay to be finished; though it did ask. It arrives, it turns, it goes— and the night keeps what the day could not.

It's free to care. Let's elevate her today! @DKemeridou

Congratulations Denna Hunter. Another incredible human being. Another dreamer. Another great writer. Let's go elevate her.

Had to go a different direction with this collection. Amazon said the Copper text was not clear enough to read. So, Chrome it is.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Am I not worthy? My spirit has scoured the earth in search of you. Just one moment is all I ask to prove my mettle. Your radiance has left my mouth without words — listen now, for my soul is speaking.”

To every trucker out there — you’re the backbone of this country, and I mean that! You move the miles nobody sees. You carry the weight nobody talks about. You keep the lights on, the shelves full, the world turning. And you do it in silence, in storms, in long nights, in empty stretches of highway where it’s just you, the road, and the grit that keeps you going. I’ve lived that life. I know the cost. The missed moments. The tired mornings. The miles that feel heavier than the freight. And still — you show up. You deliver. You endure. You’re the heroes nobody claps for, but everyone depends on. You’re the reason families eat, businesses run, and cities breathe. You’re the quiet strength behind everything people take for granted. I see you. I respect you. And I’m proud to stand shoulder‑to‑shoulder with every one of you who’s ever climbed into a cab and taken on the road like it’s a promise you intend to keep. Thank you for the miles. Thank you for the sacrifice. Thank you for being the kind of people who hold the country together. You’re priceless! Keep the Shiny side up, and let's roll! -Road Ghost

Let the reading begin.

A designer contacted me; she has been following the story. Did this in her own time. We have time to decide. it makes sense. SRR is the boy walking toward the house that changed his life. This is the man walking away. Classy, vintage. Calm. More inviting. Your thoughts.

I did not expect this. Humility starts the moment we realize other people care about our work as deeply as we do — and we choose to listen. Sometimes a writer is too close to the story to recognize what truly serves it, and that’s when the people who care about the work make all the difference. Today, friends showed up and reminded me to listen. I’m grateful for everyone who looks in from the outside and wants the best for this book. Feel free to weigh in on the new direction.

Please say hello to this awesome human being from the land down under. She does a lot for writers. #tireless #relentlesseffort

I love it!

My Children, the center of my world! David (Superfly) & Anna Marie (Baby Chick) This is your day! goodreads.com/review/show/89… #family #spectrumstrong #whatmattersmost 😎🙏