I see you in the shadows cast by the sun through the leaves,
in the ethereal clouds gliding along the blue sky.
I feel you in the soft breeze of the butterfly’s wings,
in that wisps of air that envelopes me.
You speak to me in the soft summer rain
and the birdsong that greets me in the morning.
Your spirit, no longer confined by skin and bones,
or the weight of physical and psychic pain,
is finally free of the false snares that held you to this earth.
And though I miss your physical presence
-the warmth of your arms around me,
my hand safely held in yours, the sound of your voice-
I know one day I will walk through the veil
that separates you from me, and we will journey forward.
Category: Grief is Love
-
Whispers of the Soul
-
If I Could Dog-Ear a Day
Title inspired by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
I’d mark the days when it was just the three of us,
sitting around the glass-top table in your cozy Florida kitchen.
Although one of five children,
for those times, I was your only child,
soaking up the sweetness of having you two all to myself.
The click, click, click of the cards as we shuffled the deck
for the many games of rummy we’d play.
Sharing stories of your life, often heard, but always enjoyed.
Mom, always bragging about being the
rummy champion on Center Street as a child,
was never a graceful loser but was always ready to start anew.
Dad holding onto his cards to get the most points in a play,
even if it meant losing big if one of us played the last card first.
These simple everyday moments are treasures
I hold onto when I miss you the most. -
Extraordinary Power of Everyday Moments
For Mike
Because love is about the small everyday moments that we share,
the pain of your absence was especially severe in
the early minutes, hours, days, months and years after you died.
The song you wrote that first captured my heart.
How I fit so neatly into your embrace,
especially in the mornings when we met in the kitchen for breakfast.
The way that you shaved my legs when my pregnant
belly made that task an impossibility.
Your words of encouragement when I’d try something new,
believing in me when I didn’t have faith in myself.
How we were partners in running the house,
each bringing our special talents so no one carried all the weight.
You were my companion in parenting our kids,
never shying away from dirty diapers or vomiting children.
Even wringing out the cloth diapers that had been soaking
in bleach before putting them in the wash.
Being my person to run things by, even if I knew what I wanted to do.
It was nice not to have to make every decision alone.
The way that only you could wash the laundry,
so that the clothes felt just right.
Going to concerts together.
Quiet evenings at home watching our favorite shows.
The sense of humor and inside jokes we shared.
The list goes on of these extraordinary ordinary moments
that I miss so much about you. -
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
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.
Beautiful Bittersweet Life Poems 