07/27/2025
These words (all of them) deserve a read through a few times but this is my favorite part:
“I carry you: not as memory alone,
but as a hush of compassion
woven into every offering—
for you are not just my past.
You are the soft persistence
of hope in my chest,
and everywhere I walk,
your spirit bends the light
toward mercy for all beings. “
—Dr. Joanne Cacciatore
Cheyenne, it’s been 31 years since I held you—
in my weary arms,
yet you remain at the center of every wild thing
— I love.
You aren’t just the echo of my years gone by—
you’re the sunlight trembling through new leaves today,
the hush leaning against my shoulder in the quiet field before tomorrow morning.
You are kindness, caught like dew
in the grass under my feet, next week
and gentleness, singing low
with the river as it passes
over the small stones of sorrow.
As I walk—slowly, with a heart
attuned to everything—
I find you with me in the bright unfolding of ordinary things:
the tilt of a bird’s wing,
the way the air moves,
a golden pause in the mid-afternoon.
What is grief but an open hand,
and love, and wild geese calling
across the sky of my forever?
I carry you: not as memory alone,
but as a hush of compassion
woven into every offering—
for you are not just my past.
You are the soft persistence
of hope in my chest,
and everywhere I walk,
your spirit bends the light
toward mercy for all beings.
—Dr. Joanne Cacciatore
Missing my beautiful daughter 31 years after her death
(This is an age progressed photo, created by a forensic artist from 15 of her baby photos)