Beautiful Bittersweet Life Poems

Exploring the world of life and grief through poetry.

Category: Grief

  • Haunted Dreams

    Haunted Dreams

    The Brain and Grief

    Buried deep within the Mariana Trench of my mind
    stirs the deep grief that only dislodges itself
    during the darkness of night
    in the dreams that haunt my sleep,
    leaving me worn and broken in the morning light.
    In the recesses and crevices, you are alive again,
    healthy and strong,
    only to be swept away by the reality
    that you are still dead.
    And so, the waves flow back and forth,
    alive and dead, alive and dead,
    my mind trying to convince my heart
    the truth it cannot bear to believe.

    The origins of this poem came from the dreams I had one night about my parents, who died in 2022, six months apart. One or the other would be alive and doing something with me, only to have the realization come crashing in that they were dead. There were also dreams of my childhood home being sold and having to let go.

    Death dreams started after my paternal grandfather died. Unlike when Mike and my parents died, these were more short-lived, as my mind incorporated the reality of his death quickly. Part of this was because I didn’t see him as frequently due to where I lived. Another big difference was that my relationships with Mike and my parents were deeper. There is no rhyme or reason for when these dreams occur. I’ve dreamt more about Mike in the past couple of years than in the beginning, though that could be because I don’t remember much about that time. Sometimes they are lovely dreams, while others are about unresolved conflicts.

    Regardless of what happens in the dreams or how much I enjoy life, the grief and missing are always stored away in my brain, as it tries to reconcile the reality of death.

  • The Gift I Didn’t Ask For

    The Gift I Didn’t Ask For

    I sat slumped on the floor,
    the wrapping torn off the box.
    As I reached inside,
    I already knew that I didn’t want this present,
    but there was a no return policy stapled to the gift.

    Who was the giver that would lay
    such a heavy unwanted inheritance
    for me to carry with me
    as I wander the world for the rest of my days.

    The giver sits next to me,
    wrapping one arm around my shoulder
    as their other hand wipes away
    the tears that run down my cheeks.

    “Dear one,” they say,
    “I know that this present feels like a curse,
    and you’d rather that I’d disappear with it,
    leaving your world unshaken.”

    “But grief is interwoven with the love that preceded it
    like a finely knitted sweater.
    The tattered garment that you now possess
    is the love that remains.”

    I pulled the sweater to my heart,
    rubbing the holes that plague this once intact garment,
    knowing that my body will learn to adjust to the chill that the holes let in,
    while the rest of the sweater will warm me with your memories and love.

  • When Grief Visits at 4 AM

    When Grief Visits at 4 AM

    The visitation times are posted,
    daytime hours only.
    Do not disturb grievers after 10 pm,
    for they need time to rest and recover
    But grief doesn’t respect the artifice of time,
    arbitrary schedules society places on when we’re allowed to grieve.
    “Love,” it says, “I know you’d rather be sleeping,
    and this is an inconvenient time to visit,
    but sit with me for a while.”
    So, I lie in bed,
    wrapped in my blankets,
    pull out my notes app and write you a letter.
    Tears snake down my face,
    a welcome release from the pain in my chest.
    And just like that, grief releases its hold,
    bids me goodnight and disappears into the ether.

  • Elephant Memory of Grief

    Elephant Memory of Grief

    Like elephants’ store memories
    that allow for their survival
    and to protect them from danger,
    we amass our grief experience.
    And though we would like to forget the pain
    when emotional anniversaries arise,
    our insides never forget.

    The brain says, “The anniversary of your beloved
    is close at hand.”
    And whether it was a year, or 13 years, or 25,
    your brain replays the time leading up to that
    horrible day in anticipation, as if it will happen
    again. No matter how rational your brain,
    death never makes sense.
    The absence is too profound.

    The heart says, “Your heart will always
    ache for your loved one.”
    You’ll wonder how you will walk through
    one more deathiversary, no matter
    how well you manage in life.
    For it’s the companionship, encouragement,
    the morning hug, and the support that your
    special person gave you will never be matched,
    for they were one of a kind.

    The body says, “Even if your brain and heart could forget,
    I will remind you as I course through your system,
    like defibrillator paddles”
    The tightness in the chest returns.
    The tears flow down your cheeks
    as you once again remember that this is your reality.
    Anxiety that something else bad will happen
    disrupts your days and nights
    A sluggishness returns as time stands still
    and barrels to the date of dread.

    The first year was the hardest
    because I truly thought that Mike would die again
    and I would have to relive the nightmare,
    not yet comprehending that death happens once.

    Now, my brain, heart, and body know
    that I can’t predict what day
    the anticipation will kick in,
    but it will come.
    I’ve also learned that the day itself will never be
    as bad as the days leading up to the death date,
    though the day after might be.
    However, my system will settle down to
    the low hum of grief that is
    forever a part of love.

  • What If

    What If

    On Living With a Chronic Condition

    Sweetheart, it’s okay to stop fighting.
    It’s not giving up, but coming to terms
    with the reality that was not of your choice.
    For if combat was an option against
    a body that refuses to work the way it once did,
    you would be better by now.
    The stash of energy that you could draw on before
    is now depleted and doesn’t recharge easily.
    What if you chose to shower yourself
    with kindness and compassion instead?
    It wouldn’t undo the physical changes,
    but, oh, how it will soothe your weary soul.
    It will give you the space to breathe deeply,
    What if you treat yourself like
    your best friend?
    How gentle you would be,
    holding them in a warm loving embrace,
    meeting them right where they’re at.
    What if you allowed yourself to grieve
    the life you once lived so easily?
    It’s not a sign of weakness or surrender,
    but choosing to find some serenity
    on a journey that is already wearisome.
    I know, sweetheart, that there are days
    when it all feels too much, but what if
    you took a moment, an hour, a day,
    to give yourself a break from the demands in your head
    and just be.