why, why, why
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it’s not productive to think about
but sometimes it’s important to go over it all again,
like a perverted reassurance
that she died and it’s not my fault or her fault or their fault
First rites, last rites
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We were in shock, and we had no obvious religious or cultural traditions to follow in this situation. What was offered to us was either a religion we didn’t believe in, or nothing at all. We didn’t have the energy or creativity in that moment to invent our own tradition, so it was nothing. No one around us stepped in, maybe because our entire community lacks a clear set of rituals or guidelines for how to respond to serious illness or death.
Read MoreThe years pile up
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What if we didn’t celebrate her birthday this year?
This is the treacherous, traitorous thought that runs through my head this early January, as the rain falls ceaselessly and the gleam and glitter of Christmas fade into the background.
Read MoreHere come the holidays, again: a kitchen table post
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In this year’s kitchen table, we’re focusing on how to balance participating in holiday festivities and taking moments for personal reflection, balancing the busy-ness with our own need to sit with our feelings and grief.
Pull up a chair. Let us fill your mug, and you can warm your feet by the fire, while we talk holidays around the Glow In The Woods kitchen table.
Read Moreshe died not so long ago
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my body knows
it quivers into december,
as warm wreaths brighten up lampposts
set against skies rich with winter coming
What blooms in darkness
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“Dear Felix,” I start my journal entries now, channeling my son through his two sweet syllables. I feed and water our relationship with words, not wanting to miss what blooms in darkness. I beckon him close, close, closer still.
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