Breathe
Don’t hold it in too long,
that breath
that fear
Every worried thought
that sits inside
unexhaled
becomes a weight
heavier
than any virus
Breathe
deep belly
to diaphragm
Round it out
like a baby
laughing
and finding
her feet
for the first time
Don’t hold anything
past one full
in and exhale
and breathe
right through loss
and love again
Worth It
Rocks yearn
for the watery kiss
of ocean waves,
although that press
may eventually wear them down
Ask any bit of sand
if love was worth
shattering for
and that tiny smooth rubble
will smile under your feet
while it holds
families and picnics
and vacations
and dogs running like lovers
into the waves
The gritty sand
that was once rock
clings to feet, legs, hands,
hair, and thus travels
the world
to be brushed off by towels
and washed away
by hoses and showers
to go wherever
it may, still smiling
at how far love
has taken it,
moved
and embraced it,
shattered and all
Walk Through
Walk through
that open door of grief
and you may find
a softer heart
and a kindness of memory
Under the pain and sorrow
are images
of smiling faces
and moments of togetherness
that transcend time
Beneath the wrenching alone
are all of the ways
of connection and comfort,
the conversations between hearts
when they love
On days
when grief spills from the door
and overwhelms everything,
sit quietly and remember
before
When you walk through
that open door of grief,
you may find
a clear window
into forever
Tell You
No one wants to tell you
it may always hurt,
your heart, pummeled by death
and swollen and bruised
by years of loss later
No one wants to tell you
that as you age
you will meet death suddenly
in hospital corridors
and on roadways
No one wants to tell you
that there will be other phone calls
that plunge your stomach down
and bend your knees
in disbelief
No one wants to tell you
that you’ve become part of a group
others don’t want to know,
those that have been seared
to the soul
No one wants to tell you
that time only blunts the pain
but does not remove it,
and that the missing doesn’t disappear,
only migrates
No one wants to tell you
that to be fully alive
you have to look death in the face
again and again, even your own,
until you no longer fear it
No one wants to tell you
that accepting
loss as a part of love
is what it truly means
to be human
10/6/19
Past Any Season
Autumn is everything-colored
except black and white,
magenta, dark purple,
orange and red and gold,
every shade ever seen in gardens
If we were leaves
would we love each other
far past youthful green
into the fallen months
of rusty brown?
Would we remember each other
long after we lay
on mossy ground,
slowly darkening
into earth again?
Every autumn I picture you
playing in the fallen leaf piles,
throwing them sky high
and laughing
past any season
Rituals
For the dead,
we swallow past
the lump in our throats
We stand up to speak
in the face of those
whose misery matches ours
We struggle for words
to share our hearts
and our loss
Birth and death dates
are inscribed in newspaper articles
or etched on stone
to become part of a story
of a life that no one
wholly knows
Most of us only meet
in the middle, missing
the birth or maybe the final moment
And every day
and some day
each person here
will have to grieve
the dead or be grieved
by the living
Year after decade
we mourn
and remember
Our rituals for the dead
become love
honoring love
The Third Death
The first death is the physical,
the shock of the person gone,
no longer there to hold
or see or hear,
all of their possessions
no longer theirs
The second death is the realization
that they will not be here
for the rest of your life;
at any occasion of family and friends,
through further losses and celebrations,
they will be missing
The third death
is how they disappear
from most conversation
into the realm of thought and feeling only,
as if being alive is a requirement
for inclusion
The third death
includes the awareness
that most of the living shun the dead
and that someday, we too
will be an occasional thought or feeling
unspoken
After Years
“It’s been two years and it’s still awful.” This from a fellow after his partner of over 35 years died. And he went on to say that people think he should, at the age of 86, “be better at getting over it by now.”
It may take years to process the trauma of losing a beloved, including the way the person died, how family members were notified, the behavior of family members, and other peripheral events. Initially, we may only be focused on the fact of death rather than the circumstances. Later, however, we may start to process how we were treated by others at the time, whether we felt like they were present for us and if we were allowed to be there for them. Given that shock tends to insulate us from reality, we might have delayed memories of events that only come to the fore years afterwards.
And those who treat us harshly or kindly during our most vulnerable moments have a huge impact. I will always remember how incredibly courageous one of my daughter’s friends was, to call me, someone he barely knew, to make sure I had been notified of her death. And her friends organized a memorial for her, helped us clean her apartment, and provided many hugs, songs, and stories to comfort us.
Mourners may believe they are through the worst of the grief, and then have it re-ignited years later from subsequent losses that bring up old traumas. Grief has a long memory. We may forget a few things, but our bodies do not. Mourning is an intense process that can impair our physical bodies and affect our mental health. Heart and throat issues, lung problems, and other ailments may be a direct result of loss that goes unacknowledged and unsupported.
I recently overheard a therapist say to a still grieving person, “But it’s been 5 years,” as if there is an expected expiration date for mourning. And that’s probably why so many of us do not grieve honestly and thoroughly. No one wants to hear that you are still sad years later, and may always be grieving in one form or another. Our friends and family members want us to be well. And everyone processes loss differently too, which may stress already shaky relationships.
There is a kind of grace that comes from honoring our losses, while still maintaining hope for the future. And that balance is the tricky part. Focusing only on grief without a break may lead to severe depression, while completely burying the grief in order to “move on,” plays havoc with our psyches. But even the most honest acknowledgement may not keep us from long term pain. Our bodies feel everything, particularly the deep ache of losing those we love most. And we have not only lost a person we loved, but also who we were with them; it feels as if a part of ourselves is gone as well.
Six years after my daughter’s death, I still have people tell me to “smile,” on days when grief is hitting me hard. I have moments of utter joy, and great sorrow. Some days my body hurts despite all of the support I receive. One bereft mom said it very well, “I still grieve deeply, but after four years I don’t share it with others as much. They really have moved on, and don’t want to hear that I haven’t, whatever the hell that means anyway. My son is gone, and I miss him every day of my life, and that’s just how it is. And sometimes no matter how much company you have, it’s a damn lonely business.”
All Things
Death gives this gift,
the tender ache of knowing
we hold nothing forever
and the beauty in longing,
the exquisite grace
where you once were
opens in every new laugh in the sun,
the cherishment
of flowers and friends
Everything dissolves into tomorrow,
re-lived by memory,
loved infinitely
as all things fall to ground
Gotta
Gotta hand it to you mothers
you can clean up poop
and pee and barf and still smile
and love your kid like
forever,
like a miraculous flower
never knowing how it will bloom
You don’t feel like you’re “babysitting,”
or having to “watch the kid,”
no, no trying on a role for you
it’s the real deal
until death and even after,
that small body full
of every hope you ever had for the future
Your mothering hands soothe the heart,
your gaze sees every bit of kid,
every fault and crack line
and loves right into the abyss
and beyond,
you mothers
gotta hand it to you