Posted in Personal, Poems


Today an Angel was born
in hope transformed
from woman and daughter
to memories

Hollow arms, empty
crave for her warmth
they stretch, defeated
in search of her presence

Patches of laughter
echo through silence
in light and shadow
her energy is captured

Forever young
Forever loved

MC Driessen blogs


For Nancy and Paul, who lost their daughter Heather.
She is now reunited with her brother Declan.
Much love,

Posted in Personal, Six Word Saturday, Stories, Writing

An Angel’s Hand

My Saturday in six words:



The coffin was painted blue, decorated with flowers, little stars and winged beings in bright hues. The original exterior – boring white – was dressed in the colors of life, which was a good thing because the person in the casket was not boring either. The woman who rested peacefully within had been overflowing with action, cheerfulness, determination and perseverance. Even from the other side, her optimism broke through the sadness of those present, showering them in sunny African music. Her three beloved granddaughters were sitting on the bench right next to her, their long golden hair united in braided accents, with their mothers protective at their side.

It was quiet. A subdued silence that waited breathlessly. The spell was broken by the sympathetic voice of the minister, who led through the woman’s life. A life with good and bad times, but always lived by one motto: all will be well! Slowly the voices of the choir faded away, voices she had been part of. Now there was a void only she had been able to fill, her voice a tone that stood out by absence.

The sermon was almost at its end and the moment of parting finally came closer – too close, unrelenting and grim. Love nor desire could stop time. Relatives and friends walked towards the blue coffin to pay their last respect, their sadness etching deep, by tears intersected lines. When the last walked out the door, the family looked at each other, desperate with grief. Last weeks’ haze was suddenly wiped away by reality, a gruesome and uninvited guest. Was this really the end? Their Mom was lying there, Granny! They stood around the casket and held each others hands, quiet, waiting, not able to let go.

Then an almost imperceptible vibration, and with a soft rustle of wings the silence came to life. A slight shudder ran through them. Was it their imagination? But no, they all heard it, felt it! Right in front of them the light changed into a new shape, painting a woman who shone in the silver glow. Light enveloped her now frail form with a hint of wings. Her radiant smile bathed her girls in peacefulness for the last time and in her own resolute way she took the hand that was offered her from within the light. The woman – their mother and grandmother – was led away by the hand of an Angel. Angels in whom she had always firmly believed. From afar one last echo in her unique timbre.

Remember to live your life well!


Written for my dear friend Nancy, who lost her mother last week.

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Posted in Writing


With her nose pressed against the window, so close to the glass that she almost couldn’t see through her own breath, the girl looked outside. It was a bit misty. Whiffs of clouds passed by and submerged the world in a haze of white light.

When will they come, Grandma?

The woman sighed, every day the same old question. She went over to her grandchild and petted her curls. Then she said softly:

I don’t know, darling.

The girl stayed near the window – like a shadow – and waited. If she concentrated and watched real closely, she saw her little brother. Sam was a stalwart knight today, his stick a dangerous sword. He ran after his friend, waving the stick weapon, when suddenly the other boy turned. They fought bravely, laughing, with red cheeks from their exertions.

Come on over, I want to play too!

She banged on the window.

Why don’t you play with the others? Hide-and-seek, or tag, you love to do that.

Not today, Granny, I’d rather stay here.

The child sat down again, but her gaze was outward bound, longingly. Her hand prints were already fading and the glass resumed its transparent appearance. With her white skin and blond hair, she looked like a young princess. Gray eyes that were far too wise for her age. Resignation had changed her face, enlightened every now and then by a fit of impatience. Like now.

Why doesn’t Mommy want to spend time with me, Grandma?

The woman turned, alarmed, and hastily went back to the window. She took the girl’s unhappy little face in her wrinkled hands and gazed deeply into her eyes.

No, child, don’t you ever think that. Your Mama loves you dearly and longs to be with you. Always, every minute. But it just can’t be, sweetheart, it’s too soon.

And why does Dad always have to work? It just isn’t fair! Why can’t they visit us sometimes?

Silent, the old lady kissed her grandchild on her brow. How often had they had this conversation? Through the window, she saw her daughter calling Sam back into the house. It was time for supper.

She took the delicate small hands in her own and held them tightly.

Sweetie, please look at me. You know why, don’t you, darling? You know they don’t have wings yet, like us…

Posted in Personal, Photo, Poems

Layers of Life


Life dresses

in many layers

as daughter

best friend

lover and


but then

one by one

these sheets of life

are stripped away

until nothing’s left

but the bare core

the essence

the soul



MC Driessen blogs

For Lia Daenen, co-worker and friend – Rest In Peace, sweetheart.

Posted in Haiku, Personal, Photo

Life is fragile


your heartbeat falters

taking you too far away

for us to follow


where ever you go

our love will accompany

your sweet and brave soul


hang on to our hands

we will hold you, in our heart

you’ll live on, always


Last Monday we received a message that Richard Verhoeven, one of our students, is very, very ill. Saturday he was found in cardiac arrest by his family. Ever since he has been in hospital, fighting for his life. Our academy is devastated, students and staff alike. This afternoon we received the horrible news that his parents and brother have to get ready to say goodbye.

A bright young man, only 19 years old. He is always ready with a smile, lending a hand where it is needed in a refreshing and spontaneous way. His enthusiasm inspires others on many occasions.

Richard, you are never far from my thoughts in these hours. Be strong, young friend. Be strong enough to stay, and brave enough to let go if that is what you must do. We are there with you and your family.



Today, Thursday, we were informed by Richard’s parents that Richard died yesterday evening.

~ Rest in peace, new angel. ~


Posted in Border hopping, News

Too Many Angels

Belgium and Holland are in mourning.

Tuesday evening a Belgian bus crashed in a Swiss tunnel. Twenty eight people died; twenty two of them were children. Another twenty four kids are injured. The group (Belgian and Dutch nationalities) was returning from a skiing holiday in le Val d’ Anniviers. Both drivers have lost their lives too.

The bus has somehow brushed against the tunnel wall, after which the driver lost control completely and the vehicle crashed head-on against the concrete wall. The pictures of the wreck are gruesome, I won’t show them.

Last year, my youngest son went to Italy with his school, also by bus. And worries about his safety troubled me greatly. Still you have to let go and trust all will be well. My son returned safely, but these poor families will be waiting forever for the return of their child. My thoughts go out to the parents and siblings, family, school and friends. So very sad. So horrible.

They left happy and excited about their ski trip and had wonderful stories to tell. But their voices are lost now. How many words are left unsaid. How many hugs will never be given.

There are too many angels who should still walk the earth. And not enough wings to fill the void.

You will be missed.

Photo © AFP / Georges Gobet
Posted in Poems, Writing

The Mirror Is One Way

Angel Girl, 

what are you doing up here?

You should be playing




glory of countless days

reflected in your eyes.

What happened, sweetheart?

Did your heart

your bravery

fool you so?

I can heal your hands

hold your soul

and gather the pieces

of chattered dreams.

But I can not heal your pain 

for you can not go back, 


The mirror is one way.

Only ten years old, never to see eleven. Last week, Joanna Ramos from Long Beach, California, had an appointment with Death. He was not dressed in black, Death, nor carrying a scythe. No, Death was dressed as a girl. A girl, the same age as Joanna.

They were rivals, these youngsters, fancying one and the same boy. And they decided to fight over him. Within one minute it was over. The fight. And Joanna’s life. A blood clot blocked her future.

I am devastated.

Posted in Personal, Poems, Writing

Death, Harsh Master

Again you visited

sneaking in

and delivering the first blow

only to hit even harder

moments later

tattering the foundations

of our existence

You have done enough

for now, Death

take this departed soul

and keep him close

be gentle

‘Thank you’

for this reminder

of our mortality

the need

to make each day

precious and special

‘Thank you’

for showing the necessity

to tell our loved ones

once again

they are treasured

infinite, unconditionally

Thank you

and damn you

heartless and cruel


Harsh master

have mercy


Dedicated to Ab Bobbink, December 1st 2011
Text © Marion