Being There by Aimi Medina

Beingtheremedina's Blog


“Being There”

A memoir by Aimi Medina

        “Being There” is a story written as a companion for caregivers. I take you along and share the daily ups and downs on a nineteen month journey after my father suffered a massive stroke. I am the friend who understands the emotional rollercoaster of being involved with caring for a loved one tragically left with a minimal quality of life due to an unfortunate life saving measure, a feeding tube, which prolonged the inevitable with pain, misery and heartache for all.  I am the friend who shares the deepest pain, the torturous amount of guilt, and the inner thoughts of wishing for death. I am also the friend who finds happiness in the smallest moments, shares the strength of a family who pulls together, and finds forgiveness and hope when life takes unexpected turns.

My story revolves around medical decisions that were made without…

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Art work by Jean Vadal

Night moon
Creeping grass
Blinking lights
Quickly pass.

A fallen star
From high above
Landing softly
Shimmering love.

Flicker, flicker
Up it goes
Energy sparks
A trailing glow.

Extend my arm
Cup my hand
Hovering above
It gently lands.

Flutter, flutter
Zip, zip
Make a wish
Blow a kiss.

Set you free

By Aimi Medina 2-22-15

You Know Her By Name

She’s a native of Brazil,
Known around the world,
She boasts her brilliant hues,
In a maze that she’s twirled.

Everywhere she’s seen,
Her presence is known,
Cheerful on bright days,
Not afraid to stand alone.

Striking during winter,
A spectacular show.
All pale in comparison,
Jealous of her glow.

She basks in the sun,
Prefers salt in her drink,
Her favorite colors are purple, red,
She’s stunning in pink.

The rewards of looking after her,
Turn heads of all kinds,
She’ll punctuate your world,
She’ll wrap you in her vines.

Use caution when close,
Slowly as you learn,
She’ll cut your skin deeply,
Owing nothing in return.

Her thorns short and thin,
Curved at the tips,
Breaking off in your flesh,
When she lets go her grip.

A typical victim,
On a cool evening night,
Clawed bleeding wounds,
Her pruning delight.

You know her by name,
You’ve met her before,
The glorious Bougainvillea,
Awaits by your door.

By Aimi Medina 12-29-14


unnamed (8)

Out in the open,
In a grand ole place,
I stand on the ledge,
With nature face to face.

Is that me I hear?
Crossing overhead?
Strangely familiar,
Words I’ve just said.

It’s only an echo,
Yet it validates my lines,
Hearing my voice,
Fainting over time.

I repeat it again,
It bounces off walls,
Traveling through air,
Down the mountain it falls.

This time I yell,
With my chin lifted high,
Expecting to hear,
A return from the sky.

Quiet, no answer.
The silence lingers on.
Where are my words?
They must carry on.

I pause for a moment,
As I stand in great wonder,
My words knock me over,
Like a clap of loud thunder.

I listen for the echo,
When life becomes blurred,
A sound like no other,
A voice to be heard.

By Aimi Medina 11-9-14

Last One Standing

Bridge pic1

Old Bridge,
With your dried wooden planks,
As narrow as they come,
As steep as they make.

I trek to the top,
As cars slowly climb,
Sudden pops and rumbles,
You stand the test of time.

The trailing moss creeps,
Between your splintered seams,
The musty air mixed,
With the scent of timber beams.

I bring to you my secrets,
They spill below.
Caught in a current,
Drowning things I know.

The breeze on Old Bridge,
Is no gentle friend.
Pushing me off balance,
To my knees I descend.

Old Bridge is weathered,
It bends and it creaks.
Tension is strained,
Its deck becomes weak.

I return to a stand,
With my hand upon the rail,
I come to you Old Bridge,
To gain trust,
In my tale.

An ear to many stories,
Etched in your frame they speak.
Wisdom in your structure,
What many hope to seek.

I wonder Old Bridge,
As I turn and nod goodbye,
Who’ll be the last one standing?
Will it be you or I?

By Aimi Medina 10-30-14



Oh little boy,
It breaks my heart,
To see yourself shadowed,
By unkind words,
From those,
Who say,
You belong to them.

Oh little boy,
With eyes so wide,
Taking in pleasures,
Of the world.
Only for them to be snatched,
From those,
Who say,
You’re worthless.

Oh little boy,
With fabulous dreams,
You have strength,
That cannot be measured,
In an age,
So young,
And innocent.

Oh little boy,
You come to me,
I offer hope,
That’s measured in knowledge.
It’s free.
It belongs,
To you.

Oh little boy,
Your heart is patched,
By those,
Who see your place,
In this world.
One day,
You will,
Be free.

Oh little boy,
In years to come,
Let your wings,
Lift you high.
Fly back,
Strong, proud, and laughing.
I’ll be here,

By Aimi Medina 10-26-14

Little Voice


Art by Molly Harrison

She’d knock on my door,
“It’s me!” she’d say.
We were off and running,
Down the sidewalk to play.

I knew she was special,
Could have stayed home instead.
But I listened that day,
To the little voice in my head.

One day she surprised me,
We traveled far and wide.
Looking for gold,
That rainbows often hide.

I knew she was special,
Could have turned away instead.
But I listened that day,
To the little voice in my head.

She follows me everywhere,
But she’s hidden from sight.
She talks to me often,
When I can’t sleep at night.

Sometimes we have friends,
Made from nothing at all.
They come from within,
From a child so small.

When I hear her whisper,
She says what to do.
Confident in words,
Loyal and true.

I knew she was special,
Could have wished her away instead.
But I always seem to listen,
To the little voice in my head.

By Aimi Medina 9-8-14

When There Is Life


I once asked myself,
And God,
Are the little things enough?
When a life is in question,
When you wonder and weep,
Can the little things be justified,
And measured so deep?

Can I determine,
Ones will to live?
Whose choice is it really?
Ours or His?

The flowers he watered,
In terracotta pots,
Brought beauty
From within,
To our warm sunny spot.
The breeze of a butterfly,
Moving the air,
Casting a shadow,
Of a life,
In our prayer.

A faraway moment,
It’s hard to believe,
How we chose to spend time,
Rather than grieve.

What if it were me?
Is that really fair?
To judge someone’s life,
From my own despair?

And so I still question,
When the road becomes rough,
Is it still worth traveling?
Are the little things enough?

There came a day,
When the stems couldn’t hold.
Bright yellow petals,
Once glistened like gold.
They fell to the earth,
In the soil they rest.
Planting their seeds,
Tucked away and blessed.

The sun lights the way,
For us all to see,
Breaking my silence,
It’s hard being me.

The flowers,
Have life again.
And now,
So do I.
When there is life,
There is reason.
Here is where,
My answer lies.

By Aimi Medina 10-11-14

One Life Two Deaths


We live our life,
That one day,
Our time will come.
Not knowing when or how.
Some people have two deaths.
Yet, only one life.

The first death,
Is the loss of the person you once knew.
By a form of mental illness.
Or other thieves.
It takes the mind,
And sometimes the body.
But not all of it.
The heart keeps beating.

The second death,
Takes your breath away.
It sets your soul free,
And allows for peace.

Both deaths,
Are painful.
Are real.
But the time in between the two,
Is the ultimate sacrifice,
For those who stand by,
And care for their loved ones,
Holding their hand,
Until they reach their resting place.
Their final death,
Their final breath,
And gently letting go.

By Aimi Medina 9-21-14

In My Dog’s Eyes


In My Dog’s Eyes


In his eyes,
I’m perfect.
No judgment.
No faults.
Living in the moment,
Now matters.

In his eyes,
A best friend.
No words,
Just a pat.
Those dark brown eyes,
They listen.

In his eyes,
I’m forgiven.
For things,
Unknown to him.
He says he’s sorry,
With no reason.

In his eyes,
He celebrates,
My hardest achievements.
Never knowing,
What they are.
He cheers.

In his eyes,
An unspoken bond.
No explaining,
Or definition.
He knows,

In his eyes,
Today is like yesterday.
And tomorrow,
Is like today.
Is always.

In his eyes,
He understands.
My guiding shadow,
And forever.

By Aimi Medina 8-30-14