not this time of year again
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with heavy hands
i rummaged through her little pink box
to find her Merry Christmas garden flag
and none of it felt merry.
Unknowable
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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 MoreGrieving online
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This week’s post is a Kitchen Table post, where we settle in together with a cup of something warm and have a chat. In this post, we’re thinking about how online spaces have been part of our experiences of grieving. Come sit, if you like. We’ll throw another log on the fire, make you some tea and listen, if you want to share.
Read MoreThe appointed time
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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
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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 MoreThe mom I would have been
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After she died, all of the perfectionism and striving went right out the window. I permanently deleted all my social media accounts and never looked back. In a moment of rage, I threw all the parenting books right in the trashcan (I know that’s not very environmentally friendly, but recycling wasn’t going to satisfy my rage. I wanted those books incinerated on an industrial scale).
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