grief, hope, just be, memories, moving forward, Photograph by Tamara Beachum, poetry
Today marks year four since my husband died. In this moment, I am OK. For me the day of the milestone is rarely as hard as the time leading up to it. The anticipation gets me. So on a cold gray day in early December I could feel myself going under. I recognized the swell of grief as it came toward me and just let it be. When I surfaced I wrote this poem in just a few minutes. Rather than editing it to death in pursuit of something worth ‘publishing’ I’m simply going to put it out for you to see. It reflects the conflict of wanting the life I had back and at the same time holding dear the life I have now. Grief and joy together. There are times… There are times When I still sink my head into my hands Not wanting to believe he is gone. No, not denial just longing. Longing for a different truth An alternate universe Where his kids have both parents And normal is ordinary. Where I can love in the moment Without remembering what is gone…gone. Where there are no tears Following these familiar trails down my face. He’s off wandering…flying. I’m left behind; We are left behind. I try to follow but my feet hold fast To the ground Remaining. I yearn for a time where weather is just weather Not a trigger for emotions that I will not welcome. Memory becomes ache, Ache becomes anguish Deepening into rolling grief. For some I shift to pariah. Not all love is unconditional. Others fall away But those who...
grief, loss, Photograph by Ken Gehle, poetry, storm, teacher, why
According to my daughter’s Facebook profile she has two mothers: me and a dear teacher from middle school. I have always been fond of being in that company because this woman loves my children, I mean really loves them. She does this for them and hundreds of others. She is proof positive that the heart does not have a finite amount of love to give. She was only 34 when she died. Stacey Daniel taught Language Arts bringing stories alive for hundreds of children and supporting them as they learned that they too had stories to tell. She found the special talent in each child, lovingly brought it out from where it was hidden and wrapped it up as a gift before handing it back. Wide-eyed children opened those presents and found that they could do what they had not imagined. They believed because she believed. As she was leaving, a hurricane was crawling up the east coast. Today there is a storm in our hearts. I remember seeing Stacey sign my husband’s memorial service guestbook, a modified portfolio of his images. I was so touched that she and several other teachers were there for my children. As I tried to process this unexpected news, I looked back at the page she signed. Her name rests beside this image of another storm our family endured. How ironic? How apropos? Yes, both. Another hurricane at another time. Another unexpected loss. Another wave crashes down. While I use prose to articulate my thoughts I so admire those who use poetry as their art form. Stacey’s friend, Jon Goode, an Emmy...
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