Tag Archives: Grief

Imagining Losing You

 

To lose you

Unimaginable

You are half of me.

You are always there.

When I need a laugh,

When I need a cry.

You know me best

You read my heart

You see my soul.

To lose you

Is to lose myself.

A vital organ

Roughly excised

By uncaring reality.

I have confidence in my ability to face anything

Only because you support me.

Nothing scares me

Except

The prospect of life without you

Makes me dizzy with fear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

That feather touch

 

That feather touch

You are so light

So gentle with me

Do you think I will break?

I pour your coffee

You laugh at my joke

Why can’t we be forever.

I want this to be forever.

But you’re slipping through my fingers

You sublimate

And before I can understand why

You’re nothing but ether

A soft golden glow of remembrance.

A ray of sun lighting up the dust motes

Alighting on your picture.

And although it’s been weeks

Since you were here

Your touch lingers on my hair.

 

I’m not ready

It’s not true

Your picture is here

But it’s not you

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Elegy for Mom

My sister said I should post this. I wrote it right after Mom died. She suffered from mental illness for most of my life, and passed away from complications due to Huntington’s disease.

 

 


 

 

Mom–

You were my idol

You were a voodoo queen

An earth goddess

A diva

A madwoman

A sophisticate

A saint

Always with a touch of the divine

Though everything you said was unreal

You never lied

You were fragile

And strong

And so much a part of me.

I used to envy the kids who had normal moms

Even the adults who complained about their aging parents

But these days I know better.

You taught me how to wear my crazy well

You were a fast friend

And a devoted parent through the last moment of your life

Often you were

So much more than human.

I battle myself not to be like you

I push myself to be more like you

You were a dark enigma

Yet transparent as light

Gentle yet terrifying

When you lived I couldn’t handle the pain of your existence

Now that you’ve died I find the absence hard to bear.

I once thought I took more care of you than you did of me

But today I understand what you sacrificed to protect your children.

Your laugh echoes in my empty heart

Your spirit derails me still

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

Another one for Mom

 

Mom

Was it four years ago

Only four

When you were in the kitchen, insisting on helping with the dishes

You took so long

Running the disposal dry for minutes at a time.

 

Was it three years ago

Only three

In the cold, you in your green trenchcoat and walker

And I took you to a Chinese restaurant

For your latest obsession, orange chicken.

You hugged the waitress and told her you loved her.

 

Was it two years ago

Only two

When I was feeding you ice cream in bed

Sugar free, but we didn’t tell you that.

You ate it all, every time if I let you.

You told us you weren’t sick.

 

Was it one year ago

Only one?

We’d asked you if you were done with meds

And you nodded an emphatic yes

One of the last things you said.

We held your blue fingers

And watched you fade.

 

I miss you

I miss you

I hated to see you suffer

I was glad you got to go

But I still miss you.

Days go by

I’ve made new friends

I’ve found new joys

I am blossoming in new ways

You would be proud

You were always proud.

I haven’t missed out on anything

But I miss so much.

 

You were always easy to talk to

You knew things

I bet everything I have uncovered for myself

You already knew.

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

The Man with the Flat Cap

Flash fiction again.

 

The Man with the Flat Cap

She sat looking out the cafe window at the cold white Christmas lights and tried to remember who she was. Her husband gone. All alone.

Her coffee was cold. She didn’t care. She sat and stared at the lights, longing to be one of them, to not feel anymore.

Something passed in front of them, obliterating her view in dark shadow.

Fuck it.

She got up and paid, leaving her coffee on the table.

 

She walked to her car when a chill swept under her skin, colder than the cutting winter wind. She turned and saw a man with a flat cap silhouetted, a dark shadow against the lights.

Although she couldn’t be sure, he seemed to be following her. She shuddered and walked faster.

Straining to hear his footsteps behind her, to keep track of how close he was, she hurried to her car. With trembling hands she unlocked the door and climbed in. Slamming the door shut and locking it, she peered out, but the man was gone.

She felt silly. But glad to be safe.

Why didn’t she hear his footsteps?

Shaken, she pulled her gloves out of her pocket, dropped one on the floor under her seat, reached for it.

In the dim glow of the lights, she saw something else under the seat.

Her husband’s flat cap.

She realized that terror she’d felt was the first time in a month she’d been glad to be alive.

She chuckled at his sense of humor. He was always one for pranks. And she didn’t feel so alone anymore.

Something metallic lightly tapped her window.

She glanced up and into the face of the man who had been following her. He was grinning at her, all brown mangled teeth, and tapping on her window with a knife.

She screamed, started the car, and veered away, leaving the man in the street, laughing hysterically under the cold white lights.

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