Living with Loss

My friend died. Its been a few months now, but in the process of grieving, that is not a long time. In my life, I haven't lost a lot of friends, so this path is a bit uneasy for me. Yet, with this loss, as with the others I've experienced, I can't help but first be grateful for the gift of a unique and wonderful life. I miss her laugh, her visits and telephone calls that always began with "hello sweetie." I miss singing at the top of our lungs to old time rock and roll, dressing up at Halloween and driving around at Christmas to look at the lights. This was my friend with whom I shared most of my life, from early childhood to well into my 50s.  My friend with whom I slugged through adolescence, and dared and dreamed a brief bit of our twenties. Ultimately our differences tore us apart and there was a long period of separation of our daily lives. We did not separate ourselves out of hatred or disdain, we simply recognized we had become very different people fr...

Sitting on the roadside this evening, I balanced my camera and tried to take a picture of the moon. It's a special place under the light of the moon. We have shared time together, sacred time. It was the moon that guided us home after Wyatt died, my heart knew it was him following us as the dark winter night carried on for hours. We've had many a conversation, me and the moon.  We are usually alone so we can talk. But tonight was different. There were others with us. After Wyatt’s death we quickly found shelter in the world of others who had lost a child. We, all different, knew similar pain. The parting gift of our children was bringing us together as friends who could hold each other in the darkness of grief and beyond. As I said, the moon and I were not along tonight. Do you see them, the children who brought us together? There they are. Our beautiful children dancing in the sky.  Greeting us with love. I know y...

I just washed the sheets and as I made up the bed the side of top sheet fell across the bedrail. The thought of death rushed crossed my mind, the white sheet across the bed, the body on the bed, the hospital, the goodbyes, the pity of it all.  So often the slightest of thing will bring a totally unconnected thought, yet be so tightly entwined in my grief. This life full of simple daily actions is filled with little sparks that fuel the fire of horrors that fill my mind. I just wonder when that will stop. That ritual drive to work fills my stomach with bile and angst every time. The sight of a young man with curly brown hair sends my heart to rushing. The smell of the hardware store never fails to cause my knees to buckle, the acrid smell hits my nostril and my stomach turns, the tears well in my eyes and I want to run away, far away. It's like it was all yesterday. How can one escape the face of death when everything around is covered in its shroud. The river flow...

I received a visit from a friend the other week. He's a good man with a gentle soul, a rare character in this world. We have often chatted about our common dream of hiking the Appalachian Trail; he will likely one day accomplish the feat of which I will only dream.  He's a naturalist of sorts, likes the woods, from what I can tell, finds his place in this world through nature...like my Wyatt. It's odd how some people just have a way of making your day better because they are down to earth, honest, and good and right, cares about others, and affirms our belief that all is right with the world. A while ago he and some buddies hiked a portion of the Muir Trail in California. He shared with me that he had built a carin, stack of rocks, in Wyatt's memory. I covered my face and cried at the sound of his words. I cried because there are people out there to carry on the memory of my son. I cried because it struck me as such a beautiful gift for h...