Tag Archives: grieving

Last Night in Arizona (For Now)


My girlfriends have left
and here I am in Phoenix,
in a nice room I found
on Airbnb (thank you!)
I leave tomorrow.
I miss my kids
and can’t wait to see them,
yet I feel anxious
about coming back
and seeing the man
who was my husband for eight years.
This grieving process makes no sense.
This heart feels healed and wounded
all at once.
I went to the desert for answers,
I shared my insights,
I meditated, laughed and cried.
My heart burst open.
I could see that everything will be fine.
But how to maintain that feeling
in a home that no longer feels like home?
I wonder how I can
integrate myself
back into my daily routine,
how I will look at him,
speak to him
knowing what I know now.
One day at a time I suppose…
it’s the only way this works
in the end.

NaPoWriMo 2015 Day 30: Backwards Farewell


We cried until our eyes were red
and his fur was spotted wet with our tears
His eyes were open
but he was gone



We had to say goodbye to old Boy kitty tonight, seventeen and a half years old.  I had known him since 2009; my husband had known him since he was a tiny kitten.  Yes.  It was rough to say good bye. His kidneys were beginning to fail, he wasn’t eating anything, he had become a bag of bones, very quiet, subdued, just waiting…I know we did the right thing, but it is so hard to see my husband so sad, dazed, grief stricken, and it’s terrible to think about the empty place on our bed, the lack of cat hair (Isn’t it crazy? To actually miss the hair that had been annoying me?), no more warm cat waiting for a snuggle. Sad.

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt asked us to write a poem backwards.  What appears above is about as far as I could get in my exhausted and sad state.  Maybe I’ll have the courage to write more, to fill in the earlier parts of the evening leading up to the moment of goodbye, but for now this is enough.

Farewell NaPoWriMo, until next year!

Since Before the Beginning of Time


A part of me still grieves
my beautiful meditation room
at our old house,
the womblike feel of it,
small, quiet, dark and deep,
by years of searching
for my own spirit
buried deep within the layers
of time and illusion

I said goodbye
to my womb room today.
I took the crystal
hanging from my window,
bowed to the room
in child’s pose–
a pose of humility,
of surrender.

I lovingly touched the walls
and the floor,
and called to the energy
I had put there:
the energy of searching and finding
the energy of movement and stillness
the energy of resistance and acceptance,
of fear and courage
of isolation and connection,
of ignorance and awakening–

I called that energy to me,
drew it into my hands,
put my hands over my heart,
giving thanks,
feeling complete,
saying goodbye.

I don’t need to grieve any more.
My heart is here
where I am,
and it remains
forever whole and unblemished,
holding the secrets
to all I have been seeking,
as it has been doing
since before the beginning of time.