The 8th Hard Thing

I sit here

without her

I am empty-

carved bare

like bone on bone-

scraped

flesh-less

raw

stripped

Life has taken too much

Yearning for her

is like hunger-

hollowing me

by

In the beginning she didn’t know how to start, what to say, what to write, which story to tell. In the beginning there was snow and deep sadness. Because it felt like the beginning of the end. So much sadness.

There was black coffee and stilted prayers and two dogs just sleeping. She was alone and lonely, feeling sad and anxious.

In the beginning she was so tired, so emotionally exhausted. She’d rather be back in bed. Can’t wait for bedtime to come.

She thought of the beginning of motherhood. That journey of loving and giving. The birth, so long and drawn out; so all-encompassing. So so hard. It was a difficult beginning to the most beautiful thing- motherhood.

Even the tearing served as preparation. She didn’t know then but now it seems so clear, so true. That tearing and this. This time of pain and soul-bleeding.

Yes, it was the beginning of a beautiful journey leading right up to this excruciating pain.

by

This will be good for me, I told myself, as I put on my jacket and headed for the door. My daughter is in the hospital, again, and perhaps a walk in the Portland sun with a new audio book will be just the distraction I need.

This hospital visit entails yet another Interventional Radiology procedure with the goal of beating back this aggressive cancer- a game changer that entered her life, and ours, two and a half years ago.

So I walk and I listen, mostly, as Ann Patchett reads essays from her latest memoir.

I like memoir; it’s like listening in on someones conversation but with the added benefit of knowing their thoughts too. I guess I’m curious, nosy even. I mostly wonder how life works for these people, and of course, what they have to say about it.

I think in the writing I’ve done, I’ve written a type of memoir; stories of my experiences, which, when put together, make a biography of sorts. I won’t lie, they’ve been predominantly sad stories. Life has dealt me a hand of loss and sorrow so this is what I write about.

Yet, in two and a half years, this is my first attempt at putting my life into words.

Upon Abi’s diagnosis, it was as if a switch was flipped, I had no words to describe this latest card, taking my handful of sorrow to a new, unforeseen level. The truth of it has felt too immense, impossible to distill into essay or short story.

I’ve had many conversations about this particular writer’s block with my therapist and even my psychiatrist. Finally my doctor said the magic words: what if I approached my writing as therapeutic rather than something to be shared? What if, indeed.

And here I am, words forthcoming, not with terrific ease, but here nonetheless. Not exactly spilling out but emerging as a slow drip.

by

I’ve forgotten

what it’s like

to wake without

a weight

pulling at my heart

To feel hope

to laugh the laugh of

the unencumbered

the free

by

Bless you, grieving Mama
Bless you

If not today, or everyday,
but someday…

In the moments of silence
May you hear her voice

When your feet forget how to walk
May you feel her hand in yours

In the emptiness of your arms
May you sense her presence

When you lay awake at night
May you be filled with sweet memories

In the circling of your mind
May you happen upon her smile

If not today, or everyday,
but someday…

Bless you, grieving Mama
Bless you

by

You were my sun
the center
the brightest star

Since you’ve gone
a light burned out
I have lost my orbit

The arc I knew so well
no longer exists

I am now spinning out of control
wanting
needing
the magnetic pull of you

How do I
steward what is left
of you in me?

How do I
reflect
the gravity of you?

You are mine
after all
my flesh

Yet I am but a
dim reflection of
your
bright soul

If only I can keep
a spark of you
alive

If only others
can know you
just a little
in knowing me

If only

by

“Moments of Grace”

I have started and stopped this writing prompt several times. I have read and reread the prompt. I have wracked my brain. Have I experienced this? Softer moments, times, however fleeting, when my grief seems a little lighter?
Maybe it’s too soon. My daughter has been gone less than 7 weeks. The grief, my grief still feels sharp-edged and cutting. Every single morning is like she’s dying all over again.
The physical manifestations of grief are also still ultra-present: my stomach churning with anxiety and fear, the heaviness in my limbs as I move. The overwhelming desire to sleep all the time.
So I’m going to draw the conclusion that it’s too early in my grief for me to feel these “moments of grace”.
But I’ll keep looking for them

by

Today’s prompt involved printing out several previous writings, cutting them apart and piecing together something new. I enjoyed this one.

———————————————————————————————————

I want to remember
ALL the good

I want to remember
your life,
joy-filled, life-filled
and your love;
the beauty is astounding
there aren’t really adequate words

you watched the sunrise, filled

but still I see more beauty

I want to remember
your stunning smile
and your laughter

Imagine, more than the beauty
is the peace

One thing I know for sure
I want to remember you
dancing by the sea
surrounded with peace

I want to always, ALWAYS remember
your love for us,
ours for you,
beauty
made fast

by

I was moored
attached
made fast
now
I am adrift
floating aimlessly
taken by
God knows what
drifting
God knows where
Lost
Alone
Afraid

by

“If I imagine you speaking, imagine you loving me through this, you would tell me…”

Please take care of yourself Mom. I know you’re very sad right now and it feels really hard to take care of you, but I want you to take care of yourself as you grieve.
Please let people love you. I know it feels easier to isolate, to spend time alone. But you need people. And, believe it or not, they need you too.
Spend time in Nature. Nature is so healing. Take long walks when you can. Breathe deeply. Feel the breeze on your face and think of me.
Try to listen to music. I know that this can be difficult when you are so filled with sorrow, but try to let the beauty of music wash over your tender soul.

Mom, I love you so much. I have always admired your strength and tenacity. You are strong enough for what life is asking of you.

by