Tag: love and loss

Friday’s Poem: The Rain and Home

The rain. Blurry cloud-springs of it.

The symphony of it repeated from sky

to ear pressed against the screen.

A permeable canopy covering hillocks of earth

as our slight human lives bulk up

for coming winter. Water so holy in scorched land.

Downpours reflect and shadow the pallid light

as our nests are resettled with comforts,

a ritual of expectancy.

This season is a promise and a kind of partition

before rain sharpens into sleet–

we labor, hunker down, forecast.

I try to separate possible fates of the world from home.

As if they can be so different. Sometimes, still.

Nature weighs in, from all perspectives:

splash drench stir cool carry away trash

***

Yesterday as I opened blinds to let in

a sunnier moment you stated an intention

to fly out to see our parents but

noted a problem: where did they reside now?

I pressed my lips together. Address: cemetery.

Said gentler words as I have before, matter-of-fact.

Your lips form Oh and that brings Mom and Dad

here and now, to your deep heart and mine.

When you ask after the others, I must count

the dead as I’ve done dozens of times

until you know it’s truly so, til next time you forget.

It may be in the next moment.

I swallow, pet your good dog.

I am getting better with this roll call.

Your memories are stolen out from under you

in plain sight. I recall lovely times so

you can borrow mine. I know they won’t keep.

I want to cry out,

take them all so you can return to me, sister.

But you are sitting beside me, yourself.

We color pictures in brilliant palettes,

flashy mandalas of joy.

And sing “Stairway to the Stars”, one verse

that we half-create. As we talk, you

stare at a photo of my twin granchildren

in strange, gorgeous homemade masks,

and this triggers balloons of your laughter.

It obliterates every

single

point of pain.

It is how we do this.

It’s raining again, I say, pleased with it, with us.

Oh, is it? you answer with a dreamy gaze.

***

Meanwhile much later in the dark

the rain pummels and drips.

When I can’t sleep and there is a lull in showers,

I turn on a soundtrack of murmuring Northwest rainforest.

Like outside my windows, it whispers Home.

The banket and quilt are re-shaped, made welcoming.

Into my dreams arrive those who are gone,

then the living burst in and it’s a mad gathering;

we go exquisite places, do impossible things

and make a simple stone house out of ruins.

The rain pulses against shingles, softens thoughts;

it swathes sorrow, reveals wisps of light.

Nature cannot know how much I need this

(or can it?) after a firestormed summer.

Celebration rains are for other creatures,

cracked piney dirt, all that has struggled to live.

But, too, for this woman who in the morning

stands in slow drizzle, hands and face turned up

to sky’s sweet baptismal power.

Twisting leaves in bronze and cinnamon

amaze as they drift and skip to earth,

slick and shining as they pass.

Tuesday’s Thoughts: The Farewells We Make

I have been on a few lovely meanders recently. I had hoped to share decent beach photos and experiences. I still intend on doing that. Just not now. I have had many good intentions the last few years, then had to change my plans. Alter my expectations. It’s the way it is: none of us is protected from a halt-and-change-route kind of life, and we have to do it many times, at that.

Within the next 12 hours my sister Allanya’s partner, Skyler, will be leaving this realm for the next. It was not unimaginable that it might be sooner than later–she has been unwell for years– but not this soon. And I was hoping not this way. Oregon has the legal option of a physician-assisted death. And this is Skyler’s decision.

Of course, I have been mired in quandry– as have most who are part of the extended family. And some numbness. I can’t begin to sort out all my thoughts and emotions regarding this determination after her being in hospice care a short time. I have been trying to make it somehow align with my view of living and dying in my confused brain for a couple of weeks; it was to have happened in July. Then the date was changed. Suddenly last week on the way home from our beach trip I was informed I had to soon say goodbye to her. Yet another family member.

There has been no time to “prepare” myself. How does one do that in this circumstance, really? How do we ever prepare for death of those that have taken up time and space in our days and nights, our hearts? There are many sorts of death, and have been mourning a few of them– in this country and abroad. And now at home. What do I do with the plunge into the depths of it?

I breathe fully as I awaken another day, and meditate, pray and walk, listen to music, write, reach out. Everyday things can reshape so much. Another human being can soften the blows some.

She–Skyler– will be the eighth person to die in a few years. Many of you know we lost a granddaughter only last spring. My family is shrinking each year, to the point where I almost wonder when another must leave us…It happens usually in the spring. Beauty arrives; death follows. It is a river of grief and I float in it more than I think I can manage, but it is a most human thing. We all must do it; we learn how to do it.

I don’t make any judgment of her choice, even if I understand almost nothing of it and I don’t like it. I can note that Skyler is in her eighties, has been ill and in pain for many years with many ups and downs. I believe she has thought of this long and hard and believes this is best. But it still doesn’t seem simple. It doesn’t add up right now in some meaningful way I can grasp or feel fine about. Perhaps one day, perhaps never. But it is just not my life or death. I have cared about the woman my sister has loved. I will miss her and cherish the good memories shared. But right now I am confounded as well as feeling the sadness creep in as I anticipate a very hard day tomorrow. And the others after.

I am much more focused on my sister, her impending gigantic loss and compounded sorrows. It’s a grief she has tried to fend off… even if she has also worked on accepting such a possibility for years. I will spend alot of time with her for a long while to come, driving across the city whenever she wants me there. I imagine packing lunches and sitting outdoors in the sunshine with her. Telling her stories and hearing hers. Walking her dog through lush grass. Crying, crying, and holding her. (Waiting for her laugh, triggering it. She has the best gutsy laughter. But that will come again later and not for a long time.)

The thing is, I soon gain medical power of attorney for the rest of Allanya’s life because she has dementia. I am five years younger than Allanya and yet I am now helping manage her life more and more. She was a powerhouse and I still feel that in her, her strength and intelligence. She is lucid and present and cheerful–until just lately–if also increasingly lacking decent short term memory. I will be needed in ways I cannot even anticipate, though she is living in a good assisted living residence.

I cannot know how she is truly experiencing this. We are as close as sisters can be, the very best friends. But still her mind and feelings are not mine; her life has changed in essential ways and will be more altered so soon. I cannot understand this wholly. We will weep and weep more. But I seek ways to build better bridges to her heart and mind so I may continue to walk with her during the coming years.

What this all means to me and our family goes far beyond this clumsy language. But I wanted to share this much; I know I am not the only person in these situations. We are called to be expansively loving and courageous and also strong when family members–or, yes, others–need us more and more. And so I will do my best to answer that call again.

If I don’t post here for awhile you now know why. I will write and post as I can. I have truly missed being here regularly, as well as reading more of your great blogs this spring.

I sure hope you seek and find the illuminating, small wonders, and grab and share every good moment with those you love, and just keep on keeping on. It is a such mammoth mess of a world…we need to survive heartaches the best we can and discover more ways to love life even more. To do good work and cherish what matters most.

At least, that is what I aim to keep doing, moment by moment. Tears are not the worst part. Not honoring life with compassionate presence and curious attentiveness may be the worst, I think.

Til next time…sending good will out to you.

Friday’s Poem: Flowers Do Not Forget

Every other breath could be a reminder

of where he was that day when

much that was wild and miraculous– like raindrops

illuminating the backs of her strong hands–

came to an end.

The finality held no sound;

his breathing paused as

she measured her steps through the grass–

as if afraid she could lose her balance–

and so it was she departed, soon a ghost of love.

He returned to the garden, watered flowers,

kept all pestilence at bay;

watched bees circle and taste offerings, flit away.

He called her after time carried him forward.

She answered, said

your voice still sounds like honey,

and laughed away sadness.

It was those words, her laugh that he recalled as he

sliced flower stems, separating very few

from the group, embracing them with a loose grip

until he found a vase for a home.

And the bees followed, sunshine blessed and waned.

But he did not bring in bouquets, anymore,

those colors and fragrance a triumph.

Such a gift he could not accept–

so left them to the quiet of evening,

forgetfulness of night,

until another tending of his garden,

more gathering of any love left there.

Friday’s Poem: House Dreaming

I am dreaming of houses again.

Last night another maze of rooms led me to

each of you occupying lives shining, meticulous or

in stages of brave disarray, voices streaming

with passion in opalescent air:

you quivered with life, it’s many purposes.

I was like a ghost or an essence of motherhood

that oversees but is unseen slipping about,

with tender sighs and wide open eyes,

with hands and spirit readied.

It was not a sad dream

but dream houses are never

what is expected or imagined,

ceilings unfinished with endless floors above,

doors opened to odd places I still must wander

(if there are doors, at all),

and then sometimes a stranger

takes ownership or tells me:

It was never empty and not for sale.

I have searched (more than I care to think)

for a house that can attend well to us all,

one that is made of peace and old wood,

surprising, fecund gardens and music,

forgiveness and effervescence,

and windows that open to everything,

even aquamarine drape of sky.

But now you have your own homes.

I have mine. And it is some days not tall,

or deep or wide enough to fully wrap around

this festival of family with its lightning strikes of loss,

pulling closer then separating, each needing

respite from the blood deep sweetness and

searing pain of love that does not end.

But we call out and answer with a chorus

of true voices, as before, never mind the house.

Friday’s Poem: Bring Out the Light

Photo by Cynthia Guenther Richardson

It may be that you have all a man could want

but now the day is closing doors

as you stand on its long blurred edge,

time careening on without permission

in how or where it leads you. To loneliness.

You have always sought the jewel inside stone,

flowers under frail leaves, peace hidden in the fray

and yet there seems a dearth of light as

life balances on a tremulous hope, and slips.

You could be told otherwise.

That there will be more abundance,

that arms will entwine with yours and joy will gather

and spill like bright water from the well of night.

But this evening as dusk skims the waves

and your thoughts are a web of longing

you remember how she turned a last time,

your name an incantation on her tongue-

as if meant to root itself within the cosmos,

glowing syllables like song as her breath

brought it to a meaning not known before.

But even affections of such import can pass,

evanescent as the misty veil of sea.

So wait now. Rest your heart, empty thoughts.

Bring forward your vestigial light to sunset

as it prepares for twilight blessing.

Let it make a home there and

in your dreaming, and your blood and sinew.

She did not have to search and find it for you.

It was already there, if forgotten, but you

can stand within its prescient power-

you are made for this time, this life and more, much more.