Thursday, April 30, 2015

Rainbow Child




The birth of a child after the death of a child.
 What a wonderful gift
What a terrifying gift.

How do I be with him?
How can I keep him safe?

Shall I hover?
Shall I hide him?

How do I not overwhelm him with my grief?
How do I not have him compete with a ghost?

It’s hard not to over-do or under-do everything.
I hardly know how to be with myself, let alone him

I don’t really have any answers to my questions.
Except what I have learned from her death.

Be there, be real and let him be a part of my life
So I stumble along and finally am able to let others help

I don’t have to do it alone

Thanks for helping me with my Rainbow Child

Friday, April 17, 2015

April 17





Another year has come and gone
And you are still gone
Buried on this day
Under a tree, by a stream
Beautiful place to sit and wait
As the pain echoes with each beat of my heart

Later I will get up and walk away to rejoin my life
But for now I sit under the tree, by the stream with you
Every year is the same and you are still gone, it’s been so long
No more whys, no more guilt or blame
Just me and my grief for evermore
And you are still gone.

As another year has come and gone

Monday, April 13, 2015

Poem #2

Poem #2

Here I am again

This is April 13, 2015, thirty-seven years since I found my daughter's body.  People are really, really sure I should get over it by now.  Well I certainly have gotten on with my life.  I have had a very rich, deep and productive 36 years, but I am still not over “It”.

Yup, it is still a downer and I am sad on this day and April 17, the day I buried her.

I still wonder what she would be like had she lived, she would be 51 this year.  I wonder if I would have grandchildren or if she would have been a career woman.

The rest of my life will be devoted to creating Grief Centers for bereaved people so more can heal and have the rewarding life I have had.  I know that because I had a safe place to keen and wail is the core of my healing.




                                     Your death has
split me
wide open,
I am gutted
like a  steer
freshly slaughtered.

Your death
has spared me
nothing
in horror,
in terror.
in guilt.

What I didn’t expect,
had no way
of knowing,
was that the
depth I
plummeted to
would
also find
new depths of
living
&
loving
&
laughter

Thursday, March 19, 2015

Poem #37

  


Dante’s Inferno,
doesn’t
even
come close
to
the pain
of
my child’s
death.

No Hell
imagined
by man,
or
devised
by God,
could
“punish”
me more.



The restrictions against grieving are numerous and powerful, and start very early in the socialization of children.  I think that those taboos are there because the art of grieving changes a person, from one state of existence to another, like boiling water into steam.  But steam can be condensed back into water; the changing people isirreversible and permanent.  I am awed by the powerful taboos against grieving.  I know about this from my work with people and my own struggles to grieve openly. 
People have often expressed a deep, abiding fear that if they start grieving they will never stop—or worse, just be stuck in a funk. I have never worked with a person that didn’t continue with his or her life as usual while going through this healing process. I have deep respect for those who make that choice. I see how much strength and courage it takes to be that vulnerable and exposed.
What I would like to see happen with my book is the creation of safe places for people to grieve without being interrupted or scolded. The only partially safe place is a cemetery. It would be nice to bring back the notion of the ancient Wailing Wall. The only thing I have ever experienced that even comes close to what I would hope for is the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in DC. Loved ones are permitted to bring little memorials and at least weep quietly. I would wish for every bereaved person a safe place for deep, healing grief and reflection, in the daunting work of rebuilding a life.
I hope my book will helped you make some sense of your journey, and let a little sunshine in through the clouds.



Saturday, February 28, 2015

Poem # 7










Sometimes I
am tired
of grieving
&
protest so much
pain

I cannot seem
to
ever get
finally through

Roz said,
“Don’t try”

“The pain of her
death
is part
of
keeping her
alive
in

you”


This is one of those days.  I'm tired of putting on a happy face so as not to upset anyone.  I'm tired of trying to get a movement going to create safe places to grieve.  I'm tired of the loneliness that no one really "gets me" or cares.  So here is that essential choice again.  Do I sit down and give up?  Or do I sit down and draw up a new plan.  Maybe I'll sit down for a while and a new plan will come to me.

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Oh, mystery of life








Oh, mystery of life
that I
should
feel such
anguish,
such despair,
&
ever
smile again.



I am so tired of being sad.  I can think happy thoughts and say cheerful things, but my gut just won’t keep up with my head.  That seems to be the nature of my life since Sharon’s passing.  It has become a silent, bittersweet journey, the journey is mine alone and I have learned how to negotiate the pitfalls, like today..  If I let the grief come from the toes upward and outward, then the depth of love, laughter and awareness comes from the toes also.  If I don’t then I am sick a lot.

Here’s to grieving, living and laughing, Cheers