Do you believe in Miracles?

First of all I am not an overly great Christian. Although I believe, I don’t attend any church services on a regular basis

Last week, when I was all stressed out about my pending back surgery, I woke up one morning at 4 am and had an epiphany. I said God, I am putting my life in your hands. I suddenly felt an enormous burden lifted from my soul. I knew at that moment God had heard me and I said prayers of thanks.

After loosing my son Matt in 1986, I remember, how the morning doves on my roof cooing, gave me comfort and peace. My son had a paper route and each morning he would make the sounds of the dove as he left to deliver his papers. The doves were messengers from God that my Matt was ok and happy.

When I told my story to a nurse she said they have seen this white dove before , I truly believed that it was from God. I am renewed in my faith. My surgery was completed and I am now recovering.

The white Dove

My Grandfather

Frank McCloskey was born 29 Nov 1882 and died 09 Jun 1959.   Grandpa Frank grew up during the industrial revolution.  His parents Michael and Martha were immigrants from Northern Ireland. who came to America in 1868 (Separately) Frank used to say his father had to escape Ireland because he was a member of the early IRA and had been accused of running guns.  The hangman’s noose was his fate if he didn’t run.

Franks early life was not easy as he was one of 6 children.  His father was a house builder and was said to have worked on the railroad and horse hair factory.  Frank McCloskey was able to attend school up to the third grade.  From there on it was off to work in the horsehair factory in Central Falls Rhode Island.  He lost his big toe when something fell on it and crushed it.

Franks Catholic faith was a lifelong devotion.  He served as an altar boy and member of the Holy Trinity Church society, perhaps an early version of the Knights of Columbus.  Until he could not travel he attended mass every day.

As Frank grew up he became a house painter and Married Martha Brennan on 28 Jun 1915.  Their marriage resulted in 2 children Francis Joseph in 1917 (died in first year) and my father Leo Anthony McCloskey.  My grandparents lived through the Great Depression, which probably had little effect on his meager living.  He never owned a house or a car. The farthest he ever traveled was to Washington D.C.   His 3rd floor apartment, where he lived when I grew up had no central heat except for a large silver stove that was always burning wood.  His tiny kitchen had a small gas burner for cooking and a sink.  Very little storage for food.

His two-bedroom apartment consisted of the bedrooms a kitchen, a large open room where the stove set, was used for family gatherings and the dining area.  There was also a large room in the rear of the apartment that I saw as his music room.  In that room he had his violin, a large standup piano and his drum.  As you can probably see, life was never easy for Frank.  His beloved wife Martha passed away on 01 Oct 1930, leaving Frank to raise his 10-year-old son Leo on his own.  Frank married again, but it didn’t last, and they were divorced.  However, a large extended family helped Frank raise Leo Sr. while he worked.

My Grandfather Frank was a kind and gentle soul. He was also very artistic and painted scenes of boats and the local countryside.  I still retain a couple of his paintings along with his box used to hold his brushes and paints.  Although he only had a 3rd grade education he was an eloquent speaker.  He also had beautiful penmanship, which I have in my dad’s childhood book like a diary.    Frank was never a wealthy man, but his wealth was how he served his fellow man.  He was a very fervent Democrat and very active in the community.  He ran for political office as a councilman.

He also took in his brother who was an acholic.  Jack spent most days in the Knotty Pine Bar across from Franks apartment on Garfield Street in Central Fall, RI.  Many nights Frank would go to the bar and retrieve his drunken brother.  As a child I remember going with my Dad to see Frank, his brother Jack and a host of comical characters that seemed to arrive at his place.  Many times, we would move from the great roome to a darkened music room where my grandfather would play the piano or violin while the others picked up an instrument and sang along with Frank.  The songs were all about Ireland and the struggles.  You felt you were a part of the Irish resistance.  Frank never used an icebox or refrigerator in his life although through the years my dad bought him both.  He used them to store newspaper going back to the thirty’s. He kept one bedroom as his refrigerator.  Keeping his daily supply of milk, cheese and butter.  The room was kept cool by an open window.

I was a child when my grandfather was alive.  Frank was in his 60’s when I grew.  He died on 09 Jun 1959 at the age of 76, a day that saddens me even now.  Growing up Pa Frank became a stabilizing force in my life.  My mother and father divorced and my mother left the family, with my dad to raise 3 children.  We were a bit dysfunctional with no mother and my dad working as a salesman for a large Pharmaceutical Company and an Army reservist.  We mostly fended for ourselves, many times relying on the kindness of neighbors to keep us on track.  However, it was the arrival of grandpa on a bus corner that made my life come alive.  Frank was barely 5’2 and always wore a gray pinned stripped suit and tie when he got off at the bus stop adjacent to my grammar school.  He always had a big hug and a smile when he greeted us.  From the time he got off the bus he was pure entertainment.  We would start off by walking around the block where he would suddenly stop and bend over as if seeing something we couldn’t see.  He would pick up an object and say “Look what I found” a clear rock.  He said “This looks good enough to eat” and would break a piece off and chew it.  He then passed a piece to my sister and I and said try it.  Little did we know it was rock candy.  Other walks we would stop hat a telephone pole and he said we were at the candy store.  “Does anyone have money” he would ask.  Next thing you know he would pull NECCO wafers from his pocket and give to us as if it was money.  Of course, we ate the money, my favorite was the chocolate and the licorice.  No matter when we walked he always had some kind of candy in his pocket of his suit.

Some Nights my dad would bring him to our house as a baby sitter.  As always Frank kept us entertained.  my brother and I slept in metal bunkbeds while my sister had her own room.  When it got time for us to go to bed he would usher the 3 of us to my room where he would bring a chair and sit down next to us.  Sometimes before he began to tell us his stories he would use an little Irish Brogue and say, “my throat is a bid dry would you mind getting me a wee bit of whiskey”.  My sister who was the oldest would leave the room only to return a short time later with a shot glass filled with his beverage.  He would sip it down then commenced with his tails.  His gentle talk would take us back in time and take us to unknown places.  There was the story of Soap house Pete, Tung Tied Gizzard, Rumpelstiltskin, Puss and Boots and an array of stories that kept our eyes wide open.

When Christmas would creep upon us it was always grandpa Frank who would for sure bring us a gift that we would cherish.  Frank had barely enough money to live on but he never squinted when it came to buying a toy. I remember one year he bought me a city bus and my sister a small piano, very generous and loving grandfather.  He would often say “ I cried because I had no shoes, until  I saw a man who had no feet.”

Today as I look back and I realize how great my grandfather was.  It was his constant love that helped me through my hard time as a child.  He was a role model.  Living here in Florida now, many miles from my own grandchildren I regret that I have not been the grandparent he was to me.

My dad was always ashamed of my grandfather because he was uneducated and never overcame his circumstances, but to me he was a King, the King of my childhood.  May you rest in peace Frank McCloskey

Poems from long ago


I was walking in the woods the other day

Rain fell on the quiet path

It bathed the leaves and filled the air with a fragrance of life renewed

I thought of you as my eyes surveyed the fallen trees

Watched the rain drops and saw what nature beheld

I picked up a small stone as we once did

And started to hurl it into an unknown corner of the forest

I didn’t though, for I suddenly realized I couldn’t

Just as I couldn’t through you out of my mind

I put the stone in my pocket

And gently caressed it, as I continued my walk

I’m no good at throwing stones anymore

I just seem to collect them like old memories
L McCloskey, A Path in Marshfield, Sunday, Sept 5, 1988



It’s Saturday in Vermont

The sounds of Autumn are closing in on this August day

Pick some of those tiny pine cones from that tree

We can take them to our son

He would like that

We can include them with the arrow head you bought at the gift shop

Do you hear the chain saw

Did you see the daddy long legs

Look at that clouds

So White and puffy as they float past us

As we drift in our world of peace

Oh, and the breeze

Do you feel it as it gently caresses you cheek

Later I’ll try to repeat the sensation

When I touch you and hold you close

You say it’s been half your lifetime We’ve been together

It’s not that long you know Compared to what’s ahead

There will be more tomorrows like today

More pine cones to pick

More arrow heads to buy

And clouds to pass our eyes

And yes, the breeze to touch your cheek

When I’m not with you to do it myself

It’s Saturday in Vermont

The sounds of Autumn are closing in on the August day

There will be more tomorrows like today

I promise

L McCloskey, Grafton, VT August 1988


What lays down that path we didn’t travel today What if we didn’t stop along the way in that meadow If we hadn’t rested on the cushion of soft green grass What would we have seen
In the meadow we saw the blue sky with the tide of changing clouds

We heard the crickets symphony providing us with their song We felt the breeze that brought the scents of nature We saw the woodpecker with it’s multicolored coat pecking the solo
Would our lives have been different if we didn’t stop What mystery was missed on the path we didn’t choose to follow I guess the mystery we found in the meadow Was too precious to ask What if
Perhaps tomorrow we can try the path But our devotion will remain in the meadow
There is a path beyond the meadow We didn’t choose to follow
But the mystery we found Was what we were seeking
L McCloskey, Vt 1988


How can I capture this moment How can I hide it away How can I bring it back when I need it
I needed it now But then I needed it before I know I will need it again
Alas there will be no moment like this again The memory will have to be what remains An image in my mind Of what was
What is as the moment passes There will be other moments Some as good Some not so good But none as this very moment
If I could I would wrap my fingers around this moment And ever so carefully I would put it in an old canning jar I would twist on a shiny new lid With a fresh seal to hold the contents within
I would place the jar in my secret cellar On a shelf reserved for only my finest preserves
And when my need was the greatest I would go to that jar And take only the tiniest portion of the moment
Remembering to promptly close the lid To prevent any extra loss of the contents
I think I could make it last a hundred years But my need is so great I would probably use it up in a week
How then can I capture the moment It’s too precious to lose
L McCloskey, Vt 1988



The morning tide spills in over the waiting rocks
The seagulls walk the sand near the water’s edge playing a game with the moving water
Small crustaceans pick among flowing tidal pools and struggle to keep their balance in the current.
Fish of all types search for food beneath the surface, out of the range of the foamy water.
Wind lifts up the salty water and fills the air with a cool moisture The air is cold and winter in drawing near
The beach that months ago was filled with bathers draining the summer sun is now devoid of all but the gulls and hearty lovers.
The place is now a library of memories Looking down at the sand, foot prints remain from the one who was before
New impressions will follow for others to find It’s getting cold and the wind penetrates the old army jacket like a spirit leaving a dying soul.
A hunger fills the stomach but it is not for food it craves He walked the beach, felt the cold, left his impression The spirit is cold but the memories he brings are warm.
A smile enters the face as the tears fill the reservoir of the eyes Water from the rising tide flows over the shoes and the witness is gone
He walks on but no sign is left behind It will be a long winter It will take many months to dry the shoes and the eyes
Leo Winter 87


Paris is the Tree That Masks the Forest

In France Paris is striking

Its people move so fast

They talk so fast

But they are blind to the world around them

Paris is the tree that masks the forest

They work

They eat and drink

But they are blind to the world around them

On the rivers and canals another world is emerging

The poor from other worlds have invaded

They live in squalor in paper huts

But the French are blind to the world around them

Paris is the tree that masks the forest

They ignore them as life passes

They do not see or hear them

Paris hides it secret like it does not exist

Paris is the tree that masks the forest

It appears history is destined to repeat itself

A new Hitler is on the march

And Paris sings with laughter

Paris, tomorrow is coming

Wake up from your beauty sleep.

All that you know is changing


You will not be the same tomorrow

So move fast oh great city of Paris

As Rome changed so will you

Paris is the tree that masks the forest

Leo McCloskey, Paris November 16, 2012

My life

I have lived a great life. I am result of many great men an women. My story is an American story not unlike many of you. This blog is dedicated to the people in my life. I have also included many of the poems I have written over the years. My poems are about the loss of my treasured son Matthew. This is my very first post.