Poetry Series: Day 4

Day 4 of the 7 Day Grief & Loss Poetry Series. I could probably write an entire book about my mom’s last few weeks of life. Maybe I will. But for now, a poem.

Final Days

Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits play on repeat--
Her favorite
The aide comes in to change her position
Messages ping on my worn-out phone
How is she?
How are YOU?
I’m bringing lasagna to your house tonight.
I flip through old photo albums
And think about the stories they tell
The nurse comes in to report her vitals.
Nothing is changing.
Everything is changing.
Their faces are somber but gentle.
Do you have any questions?
I do. So many, but she can’t answer them anymore.
That night, I eat the lasagna straight out of the pan.

Poetry Series: Day 1

Welcome! For the next seven days on the blog, I am going to be sharing poems I have written around the theme of grief and loss. Writing about my losses has been a great source of healing for me, and I want to share a piece of that with you. I want you to know that if you are walking through a grief journey, you are not alone, and I also want to tell you that there is an infinitely wide range of normal when it comes to grief. Don’t let comparison slip in and lie to you, telling you it’s time to be “over it” or conversely, that you have “moved forward” too quickly. Sit in your feelings, give space to them, talk about them, write about them, do what you need to do that will bring about healing. And remember that you are loved and supported as you walk this road.

The following poem was inspired by a very real moment that I witnessed with my beloved Grandpa back in 2003.

A Few Days After The Funeral

Walking through La Rosa Grocery Store
On Orchard Lake Road
He opens the glass door
to grab her a French Cruller
The plastic tongs still pinching it,
suspended in midair
held by his unsteady hands
and then—it hits him like a ton of bricks.

After 60 years,
she’s not home anymore
to enjoy it.
Putting the pastry down,
and sliding the tongs back into their designated slot
he wipes his eyes,
turns back to the cart,
and puts one foot in front of the other.

Cranberries, Bears, and Grief

This is my first Thanksgiving without my mom, and and since my therapist told me this year that it was okay to actually feel my feelings and name them and not swallow them down like a big old horse pill, I’m trying it out.

So...today, I feel sad.

Today, I am making her cranberry sauce. There is absolutely nothing fancy about it. It is whole cranberries plus water plus a crapload of sugar and that’s it. Don’t come at me with an orange garnish because I don’t want to hear it. This is simple and just about the only uncomplicated part of my mother there was. She didn’t cook much, and that’s understating it, but darnit if she didn’t always contribute the cranberries to the Thanksgiving Day spread. It’s always been my favorite part.

I know I have loads to be thankful for this year, but it’s okay that I’ve got sadness mixed in too. Because grief doesn’t really care what day of the year it is, or if you’ve got a lot going on. Grief is a bear who’s always ready to wrestle with you. Sometimes, you can kick it in the chest and move on with your to-do lists, and other times it pins you to the ground. I guess this is one of those moments for me. Some people say the holidays get easier, some say it gets harder with each passing year. I don’t know, maybe I’ll figure that out eventually. I just know that it makes me feel a tiny little bit better talking about it and naming my bear. Today, it’s called cranberry sauce, made like she made it, in the dish she always put it in.

I bet a lot of you reading this are missing someone too. I bet tomorrow and the weeks to come will be filled with a lot of gratitude and peace and light and love but also a whole lot of suck (not the most eloquent word choice, but hey, it fits). Maybe it will help you too to talk about it. What do you miss the most? Was it her gravy? His prayer before dinner? Her yearly desire to drive around the neighborhood to look at all the Christmas lights? His insistence on getting both turkey legs? Her tradition of putting a candy cane on every Christmas present? His loathing of Black Friday? For me, the bear is a pack of cranberries and some sugar. What’s yours called? Go ahead and name it, own it, and feel it, and then maybe eventually, we can kick it in the chest together.