Filed under grief and loss

All of this means nothing.

All of this means nothing.

I’ve been playing one song so much that V has begun requesting it. “Mommy, wanna hear ‘Handbreaker’.” (The song is called “Dealbreaker.”) When I’m alone in my car, it’s the first place I go. I find the vein (turn it up), insert the blade (let the words remind me), and sigh with relief as the … Continue reading

Betrayed.

Betrayed.

The last time I bled, you were alive. When we got the news, my body, paralyzed by loss, stopped mid-cycle. When they took you away five days later, things continued where they’d left off, as though my body had simply pressed pause. Almost exactly a month later now, I bleed again. I felt the shock … Continue reading

A remnant of you.

A remnant of you.

I am thick with the smell of death. Yours, and everyone who was on your floor. All of these doorways I’ve passed through, all of these corridors, all of these beds wheeled by, all of these people grieving around me. It didn’t stop me, on the last day, from kissing your forehead as often as … Continue reading

Small Life, Slow Life, The Luxury of Grief.

Small Life, Slow Life, The Luxury of Grief.

Do you remember when you had the luxury of grief? You were allowed the space to be fully devastated. You could call into work, *cough cough* into the phone, tell your boss that no, you weren’t feeling better. You could use up your whole sick time you’d accrued in the fetal position, tangled in sheets, … Continue reading

Small Life, Slow Life: Amazing Grace.

Small Life, Slow Life: Amazing Grace.

The sun offered a tender warmth on a day that felt like early September at seventy-one degrees, not mid-December. Mountains rose up behind us so clear, you could see every little peak and boulder. Down on the grass, still perilously soft from last week’s rain, spinning pinwheels and gladiolas marked loved ones who have moved … Continue reading