darkness inside, a
voice that no one wants to hear
overwhelming me
by 
Gone
a certain light no longer seen
a certain laugh not heard
where have you gone?
this missing you
has left me
blind and deaf to joy
by Still
I met someone today-
a mother like me.
A mother whose child died, I met her.
We talked.
She talked mostly-
I listened.
Her story poured out.
Ten years ago, her son died.
Cancer.
He was 34.
So much life ahead of him.
He was special, full of promise.
Oh how she loved him!
I heard it in her voice, saw it in her eyes-
shining there.
She told me how, some days,
she doesn’t get out of bed.
Still.
She shook her head.
I understood.
And there’s this: she’s still here.
She survived.
Some days (I’ll tell the truth)
I don’t want to survive.
Yet I know I must.
I must.
I must.
I tell myself this: I am loved, I am needed.
I know these things are true,
I believe them.
And
the pain is so great,
I feel splintered, shattered into pieces.
Un-whole without her.
Still.
by I didn’t want it to be summer
when she died
I didn’t want the sun to shine.
I needed clouds
and dark
and rain.
Now that winter is here
I long for the sun
I yearn for warmth
for green earth
for blue sky-
Yet winter grieves with me
and within me.
by I forgot to tell you that
the words matter:
Bereft
Excrutiating
Sorrow
Empty…Empty…Empty
Yearning
Hollowed
Despair
Raw
Exhausted
This. Here. Now.
by This
It wasn’t supposed to be
like this.
I wanted the other ending,
the one where she stayed.
But
here I am
watching
as this life plays out.
And,
there’s this:
I cannot turn away.
I am spellbound,
riveted-
my mind following the script
like an obedient dog.
I look at the ticket stub
in my hand,
it tells me this:
this place-
this life
is where I’m meant to be.
by I’ve learned
that
sometimes
some things
break
and can never
be fixed.
some times-
now,
some things-
her life,
mine,
shattered-
pieces scattered
never again
to be whole.
by Nonetheless
This is my path.
It is not the path of my choosing
but it is mine to walk
nonetheless.
It’s a narrow path,
few accompany me here.
It is rocky and steep,
skirting the edge of a deep abyss.
My feet are raw and bleeding.
My hands constantly searching
for something to hold onto,
to steady me through this unknown territory.
I look ahead and see no end in sight.
I read of those who’ve gone before
but I find no comfort there,
only in that they’ve survived.
Years later, they still walk this same path.
This is my path.
It is not of my choosing
but it is mine to walk nonetheless.
by morning is the hardest part-
waking
feeling the grief
anew.
having to give up
the oblivion
of sleep
that covers the pain
for awhile.
remembering
knowing
she’s not here
she’s gone.
by