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Tag Archives: death

Nebulous

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you did not vanish

lies lurk, thicker than air

your steps brushed clean

by a stranger

or stranger things

I live in the ground clouds

swinging blind

pecking on scraps of why

my pain, unnamed

but not void

I choke on hollow handfuls

of sympathy

traditional, medicinal

heartfelt, but not felt

and still I find you

a faint flicker in the fog

a single sparkle in the grass

tucked between the layers

                                                             of twilight’s painting

                                                             scarlet and saffron

you are there

I hope you see me

 

 

Written for dVerse Poets Pub OPEN LINK NIGHT.

Grace is our host. Link up one poem of your choice.

OpenLinkNight #276

 

 

       

 

 

Image: pixabay.com

Gone

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how delicate is this life

that one word, one mis…step

the bending of one finger

can rip a hundred hearts apart?

the way the zephyr innocently snaps

a limb so sturdy lush and green

or the fate of the field mouse feasting on seeds

as red hawk’s talons take hold

the hiker’s boot carelessly crushing

the castle of the dawdling slug

or the fragile web that can only hold so much

of dawn’s dew drop tears

only love is infinite and still

time, thoughts, nature, earth…

everything else moves

everything else dies

 

 

 

For Open Link Night. Bjorn is our fearful leader and host as we go LIVE at 3 p.m. EST.

More details at dVerse Poets Pub.

As Stars Go Dim

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Hope eludes her. Night embraces her. Like an old friend, it takes her by the hand to search for the light. Illusive. Dawn becomes the deadline for this decision, the last one she will make.

 

ink-shadows seduce

the sun rises unnoticed

over faded flower

 

 

 

A quadrille haibun for dVerse Poets Pub

image credit: pixabay.com

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-8255

 

Gookookoo

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The well worn paths of the forest floor feel like home to me. They are only a starting point to something more. Perhaps something no one has ever seen or touched. My feet often wander off trail to investigate a mossy log or to find that magical spot where land meets water.  I pick up rocks for future painting, caress the bark of an old oak tree and savor the scent of dampened leaves before the first snowfall. I look for the smallest of creatures, putting nature under a microscope.  I know he’s out there…..somewhere but I have not yet encountered the silent flier. Natives of the Chippewa tribe call him “Gookookoo”.  I have displayed calendar pictures of him on preschool walls, spoke of him in simple terms, but his magnificent eyes have never met mine. He lurks where I do not search. His screech has yet to reach me. Legend says that is a good thing.

 

muted feathers soar

over unsuspecting souls

deer mouse holds his breath

~

 

 

For Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub.

Victoria is our host.  WHO can join in? You can.

The prompt begins at 3 p.m. and is open all week!

 

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

50 Things I’ve Learned in 50 Years…#26

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“Being with someone as they pass is as phenomenal as witnessing a birth. It is a privilege to be present.”

26 post

It started out as an ordinary day in November.

I was 22, enjoying my first “real” job since graduating from college. However, this day turned out to be life changing. Today I would lose my dad.

As I arrived at work, I was immediately told that I needed to call my aunt right away. It was about an hour’s drive to get to the hospital in my hometown. This was a blur, emotionally and literally as I urged my boyfriend to drive faster.

ICU was like some kind of dreamworld, some place that shouldn’t be…because the reality was too hard to accept. I remember white…sheets, walls, floors, nurse’s uniforms, the grey tone of my father’s face almost blending in. There were heart monitors, tubes, oxygen masks…things I had never seen. My 19 year old brother was standing beside the bed, trying hard to control his tears. I remember holding him up as his knees started to buckle. My 16 year old sister had an 8 hour trip by train. She would not make it in time. I remember watching the jagged waves on the heart monitor…every beep was another second of denial. As long as his heart was beating, this nightmare had not begun.

I watched him struggle to breathe. I saw the fear in his eyes. I felt the tiniest possibility of hope vanish when a nurse politely explained to us exactly how a person dies when there is no heart muscle left to keep them alive. She told us how the oxygen mask would make him “comfortable” in the end.

A few minutes before my father died, he suddenly attempted to rise to a sitting position. There was no logic to this, given the amount of strength he had left. It was frightening, but amazing at the same time. Looking straight ahead with eyes wide open, he pointed at something. He was unable to speak, but he was trying to communicate. He saw something. He knew something. He was entering a new realm, a journey that we were no longer a part of.

As devastating as this was, I felt so fortunate that I was there. I cannot imagine how disappointing it would be to take your last breaths on this earth without someone you love by your side. Death is not just about loss. Beyond the heartache, there is something more to this moment.

We celebrate the beginning of life.

We need to honor the end of it.

~

Weekly Photo Challenge: Let There Be Light

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Rest in Peace, Nelson Mandela

September 2011 741

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine, as children do.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

‘A Return to Love” (1992) by Marianne Williamson


Related Articles

http://www.cbc.ca/news/world/nelson-mandela-dead-at-95-1.2417872

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nelson_Mandela

http://www.nelsonmandela.org/

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/11/29/photo-challenge-lights/

50 Things I’ve Learned in 50 Years…..#10

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#10. “In an instant, your world can be turned upside down. The people you take for granted can disappear in the blink of an eye. Tomorrow is only a plan. This moment is all you have.”

It was October of 2000. It was a Saturday morning when the phone rang, waking me up from a deep slumber. As one who usually dreaded the worst, I assumed this 7 a.m phone call meant something was wrong. Perhaps my grandmother was ill but in the back of my mind, I thought “calm down, it’s probably just a wrong number”. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to hear.  It would have been the furthest idea from my mind. It was unthinkable.

When my crying mother said my brother was “gone”, I asked where he went. He was single. He could go wherever he wanted. He had no significant ties. I thought…. where in the world could he have gone that would upset my mom so much? What was she talking about?

Confused and half asleep I asked her, “Where did he go?”

“He’s dead”, she muttered  with whatever strength she could dig up from……somewhere. My mother had waited hours to call me. She just couldn’t pick up the phone.

He was 36 years old. He was my baby brother by three years.

He was my only brother.

I fell to the floor. I remember so clearly the sound that came out of my mouth. I remember pacing back and forth and screaming “no” over and over. I am sure at that moment, I was insane. I remember crawling up the stairs, waking up my ex husband. I was not me, but just an empty, robotic being, mumbling, sobbing, shaking, running around the room……lost in denial.

I cannot understand to this day how I drove an hour and a half by myself to get there. My two sons were still asleep (or were they?) and their dad would stay there with them. I didn’t want them to know anything about their uncle yet…because it couldn’t be true anyways. That was the plan I managed to somehow articulate before running out the door to my car. I was going to see him because that was the only way I could prove that this wasn’t happening.

The next time I saw my brother, it was Halloween night and he was in a casket.

DEATH is sneaky. Don’t ever trust it. It hides away mysteriously and then leaps out of nowhere to blindside you into oblivion.
LIFE is precious. Don’t ever take it for granted. It is amazing, breathing and beautiful and it never hides. Take everything it has to offer.

Don’t wait until the phone rings or there is a knock on the door. Live your life to the fullest.
Every minute unfolding in front of you is amazing.

~ In memory of my brother, his laughter, his incredible smile , his song , his silly dance and most of all, his loving heart.~

Rebuilding from the ashes……

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With the passing of my beloved pet on Saturday, I have reflected back to other more devastating losses throughout my life. You can’t compare the death of your dog to the loss of your mother or father, although at times, the pain could be the same. It comes down to the fact that a piece of your world as you know it, has disappeared. Sure, sure, sure, they’re “in your heart” but you’re not holding them. You’re not talking to them. They are not available to help you, listen to you or comfort you. You miss their touch, their voice, their face, their laughter, their mannerisms. It’s as though your life stops for a moment to reassemble itself. It can’t go on the way it was because a link is missing. I have fixed that link a few times in my life. It just took awhile to find the right tools.

Losing my father when I was twenty two was not only excruciating but I was totally oblivious to the stages of grief. I focused on the pain of my younger siblings and my mother and drove full throttle into life thinking all I needed was a brand new sports car purchased with inheritance money to do it. Wow, was I wrong. My body basically shut down with daily migraines and I was just stuck. During a visit to the doctor’s office, she asked me “Have you grieved the loss of your dad?” I must have looked at her with a blank stare because she answered for me, “I don’t think so”. So I finally allowed the pain to touch me, punch me, kick me and the tears flowed for weeks, or months. There were no more migraines and I became more aware of the steps to getting my life back. I had already completed the anger stage. Check! I brought that one right to the funeral home with me. I distinctly remember cursing him out, under my breath for leaving me so early in my life. Lack of maturity was only part of that, the rest is just about a daughter who never thought she was good enough. I needed more time to prove him wrong….or prove myself wrong.

Moving through the other stages was a natural progression. I just needed a kick start. Marriage, motherhood and a career path intertwined with my grieving process. It amazes me how our past and the effects of our past spill into our future and our future generation.

We are what happened to us.

We are how we feel.

We are how we deal.

Then even when we think we have it all figured out, death knocks on your door again and it’s time for another reconstruction of your life.

My brother was thirty six. It was sudden. Only three years younger, I still considered him my baby brother. This one blindsided me into oblivion. You think you have the tools but you fluster to find them. You think you have the strength but God only knows where you get that from. This time I said, “No way! ” . There was no way I was going to live my life without my brother. Brothers aren’t supposed to drop off the face of the earth overnight when you’re supposed to enjoy many more years of sibling rivalry and love. Brothers aren’t supposed to outlive their parents. I grabbed onto those trusty stages of grief with all my might this time, hoping that somehow I’d still be here when they were done with me. Acceptance was the peace I found in the end, but keeping his memory alive was the best tool I could have ever pulled out of the box.

Death is part of life. As I reluctantly go to the vet’s office next week to pick out an urn for my sweet little dog’s remains, I will think of him as I always have in order to safely carry his ashes home. I have to treasure his life in order to embrace his death.