not this time of year again
/
with heavy hands
i rummaged through her little pink box
to find her Merry Christmas garden flag
and none of it felt merry.
Unknowable
/
But then sometimes you see all at once how much more loss has piled up over time. The loss of all the potential girls and women she could have been, might have known, might have loved, and the countless unknown people who have lost something by never knowing, never having been loved by, that girl, that woman who might have been.
Read MoreThe appointed time
/
She went in less than fifteen minutes, after we said our good byes. She waited for us. I guess she knew when.
Read MoreMy second heartbeat
/
Somehow, in the quiet of it all, I’ve come to understand that this is how we survive. We carry both—side by side, grief and love, loss and life—and in the space between, we find a way to keep going. It’s not easy, and it’s not without its darkness, but there’s something profoundly human in the persistence, in the hope that even in the depths of sorrow, life still offers its light.
Read MoreRubble
/
Block by block these 6 million minutes have piled up around me. Some I have deliberately moved and sorted and arranged, compiling them into something I can live with and in, a story I can tell about what happened to us and how we carried on. Some blocks stay strewn around, rubble, minutes I could do nothing with or in but cry and rage, when there was no sense to be made.
Read MoreAutumn and her many moods
/
she was never staying long in this world –
it’s a kind of truth that only your bones can understand
but this brittle autumn air always chokes me with its taunting anticipation