Tag: grief

Book Mark

When my friends’ son died by suicide, I bought them a book. I can remember standing in a bookstore near the San Diego harbor, pulling book after book off the shelf, looking for just the right one that would speak to my friends’ terrible… Continue Reading “Book Mark”

Elegy

Stand with 10,000 ghostsHear their last wordsHurrying to the riverRunning into the treesShedding this life for new Drop your envy and yearning on the groundNestle your love in the rocks’ mortarBe part of the wall that stays behindShelter the lost and the growingReach your… Continue Reading “Elegy”

My Mother’s Face

After my father died, I found this photo in his bedroom. It was leaning against the mirror of the vanity where my mother had sat painting her nails in a room dark except for the small lamp, her red nails gleaming in the dim… Continue Reading “My Mother’s Face”

Failure of Imagination

Last night I dreamed I drowned. No. I dreamed I was writing a story about my drowning. But the details of it were so vivid, red in their terror, that I would have had to actually drown to know how to describe drowning so… Continue Reading “Failure of Imagination”

Good Luck to Me

I’m wondering if it’s a mistake that my husband’s my best friend. I see that in obituaries all the time. The surviving spouse talking about how he or she lost their best friend and I think isn’t it enough that you lost your spouse?… Continue Reading “Good Luck to Me”

Broken and Lost Things

I wait for loss. I put my hand to my neck a dozen times a day to feel the chain that holds my mother’s wedding ring. The ring is gold and very thin. If it was thinner, it would be a strand of my… Continue Reading “Broken and Lost Things”

Boxed

Dad’s signature dish Dad’s fifth wheel apology Dad’s coping after  

My Mother’s Face

After my father died, I found this photo in his bedroom. It was leaning against the mirror of the vanity where my mother had sat painting her nails in a room dark except for the small lamp, her red nails gleaming in the dim… Continue Reading “My Mother’s Face”

Permanence

Mourn the lost daughter Feel her head on your shoulder Carry her always

Book Mark

When my friends’ son died by suicide, I bought them a book. I can remember standing in a bookstore near the San Diego harbor, pulling book after book off the shelf, looking for just the right one that would speak to my friends’ terrible… Continue Reading “Book Mark”

%d bloggers like this:
%d bloggers like this:
%d bloggers like this:
%d bloggers like this:
%d bloggers like this:
%d bloggers like this:
%d bloggers like this:
%d bloggers like this:
%d bloggers like this:
%d bloggers like this: