Poeming: Lessons.

photo by me, jle 2012

This was from another poetry prompt during Poem A Day April at Poetic Asides blog, and the prompt was to write a dark poem or write a light poem, or both.


LESSONS.


Bright sun through leaves 

tree shadows on snow

bird on the nest in the

middle of a storm.

Life keeps telling me

that contrast makes things beautiful

Life keeps showing me

I can weather any storm

Life keeps pointing out

the import of a counterpart

for darkness has taught me

to love the light.

jle 2013



(Though i'm still not all that crazy about the dark....)

Poeming: Sister

the Miller girls, Patti on the left, me on the right.

The prompt over at Poetic Asides was to write a "beyond" poem. In search of inspiration i decided to try another new-to-me poetic style, a Cinquain. It's unrhymed and made up of 5 lines and a number of other cool little things to keep track of. Here's mine:




sister

funny sweet

laughing caring accepting

gone beyond my voice

friend




jle 2013

Poeming: Dear Sis

The prompt for Saturday over at Poetic Asides was to write a post poem. Here's mine.


DEAR SIS--


You know that recipe Mom

used to make, the one with

the carrots in it that she got

off the ketchup bottle? I made

it for dinner the other night,

remember how much I liked

that one when we were kids?

The note she wrote at the

bottom made me giggle

again and I wanted to call

her, but she’s gone.

And then I remember,


so are you


and there’s nobody to

call in this post-family

world of mine.



jle 2013

Poeming: Hold That Moment (remembering Patti)

My sister Patti in the Vail mountains.
 See why i thought she was the pretty one?

HOLD THAT MOMENT
(remembering Patti)


Hold that moment

two girls laughter

dust-drenched 

sun-drenched

mountain trail

Hold that mem’ry

toes in ice cold

stream now

close my eyes


I’m there.



jle 2013

Once upon a time, on the first day of Spring...

a boy and a girl were married.

 

From the day the Boy had first seen her, he knew she was The One. So exactly 2 years after they first formed their household union, they were to make it a permanent one with signatures and flowers and a solemn ceremony.

This ceremony was to take place high in the majestic mountains of the magical faraway land where they lived called "Vail Colorado." There was snow in its mountains, even on the first day of Spring, and the Holy Man who would perform their ceremony was out in that snow performing a different sort of ceremony with 2 poles and 2 flat pieces of wood. His Holy Watch was apparently broken, causing him to rush in late wearing muddy boots.

The Boy, the Girl, a friend named Mildred and the Girl's young and beautiful sister all passed secret smiles amongst themselves on observing the man's muddy footwear, it being irregular indeed to wear such attire to perform this solemn ceremony, and didst bring them a chuckle.

The Girl's younger sister with the naturally occurring dark hair played a stringed instrument and sang a moving ballad to the young couple. The Holy Man attempted to lead the ceremonial participants in a recitation of the Lord's Prayer. Again they passed secret smiles amongst themselves while mouthing words that may or may not have been correct, as the raven-haired sister of immense beauty was the only person besides the Holy Man familiar with the words. And didst I mention she sang like an angel?

In time the Boy grew into a Man, knowing all the more surely that, indeed, she was The One.Their union was strong, unusual in the fickle and self-serving times in which they lived. Their time lasted into 4 decades,  cut short only by her untimely death. The Man and the now unnaturally raven-haired sister still grieve, but as they share the story of The Old Days and the Holy Man of the muddy boots, and of the first day of Spring all those decades before,


they smile.


Skimmer's Recap: Canst thou tell who the young sister may have been? The Girl Bride was actually the pretty one, but she would have found the shameless younger sister's telling of this story amusing.
(Hi Keith! i love you!)

Good Grief: Finishing the Firsts.

The adorable Miller cowpersons, Michael Charles Miller
and Patti Susanne Miller (before I came
along for them to pick on.) ;-D

As I'm writing this after Sunday's midnight has carried me into Monday the 11th of March, I feel relief.

The relief comes from knowing all the Firsts I lived through in this past year since my sister Patti died are now over.

The First birthday without her voice on the phone. The First Thanksgiving, the First Christmas. Her First birthday without her presence, daughter Cori's birthday where I tried (semi-successfully) to make the amazing chocolate birthday cake Patti's husband Keith would make for her. And the First weekend one year after she left us Saturday the 10th last year, her peacefully in her sleep, and leaving the rest of us sleepless in the missing her.

No, I don't think for a second that the pain of missing her is over, or that I'll stop thinking, "Oh! I need to tell Patti--" I know better. But I do know the pain that knocked me head over heels like a harsh wind on all those Firsts has spent some of its power in this past year. That same wind will still blow, but I look forward to the gentler breezes of the future as the grief-storm slowly calms.

But I'll likely always still cry a little and smile when in my head I tell her, "I love you!" and I hear her warm voice answer, "I love you more!"


Skimmer's Recap: I think that since the last year has been a crash course in "Suck" that God should give me a pass for the next few years at least. (Pretty please, God?)

Just another Friday mourning.

my sister Patti and her husband Keith in Vail, Colorado.

I seem to be made up mostly of feelings and senses and nerve endings, and for days my body has been warning me "it's coming, it's coming," the "it" being the one year anniversary of my sister leaving those of us who love her behind in this world.

I've almost looked forward to this date thinking "finally I will have finished all 'firsts' and maybe my spirit will calm some." But Death and I have always had issues, and I suppose always will. As a couple of my friends in bookclub said, we weren't made for death originally, we were made to walk in the Garden with God, so we'll always be unsettled with Death.

But as the world now stands, everything with a beginning eventually has an end. Books end. The last piece of cake gets eaten. Spring leaves turn brown in the Fall. Beloved pets and grandmas and sisters eventually have an end. It may be true, but I don't have to like it.

When Friday wasn't so good.

Generally Friday is considered a happy day, the beginning of the weekend, the icing on the cake that was the week. But this last Friday, January 18, was not so good, it was the first birthday my sister was not at the end of a phone, not waiting for the lovely cake or pie her hubby would make her.

Grief seems to be the gift that keeps on giving, keeps on surprising, keeps on jumping out in front of a person and going "ooga booga!" so you pee a little. Friday's date, my sister's birthday, was tucked away there in a corner of my brain. Every so often i'd peek at it out of the side of my eye and watch it getting close and wonder what it had planned for me.

Friday after i woke up i thought "maybe magically the 18th has slipped by me and was yesterday and i can just sigh and go 'oh! My sister's birthday was yesterday, look at that,'" but no. Friday's Grief was just waiting to jump out from that corner in my brain and yell "ooga booga!" And it did.

All day long i fought my emotions. Mostly my eyes leaked and my heart hurt. The hubby was kind enough to let me snot on his shoulder a bit. i just couldn't grab hold of Grief and tell it to stop, it wanted to visit and sit a while.

But like i've learned, sometimes you just have to give in and have that chat with Grief. It can be mighty insistent.

Then her husband called and WE chatted--about Grief, about Patti. About missing her, about funny things she said. About what it's like for him to get up every day alone when he'd spent the last 40 years getting up with her.

"When I was having a hard time getting up for my 8 a.m. class in college, my grandpa told me, 'When the alarm rings I know it's easy to think how nice it'd be to just lay there longer, but when it rings, don't think. Just get up."' Then Keith continued, "So that's what I do. When the alarm rings I don't think. I just get out of bed and get going, take care of the cats, get to work."

And i guess that's what life is and how we keep going forward in the face of days that are not so good: we don't overthink it, we just do it. But some days Grief just grabs ahold of us and gets in our faces, and makes us think, makes us remember.

While i felt like Friday wasn't so good, it ended up good--remembering Patti, remembering things she'd say, things she'd do, laughing together and honoring the loss and the memories. As much as it hurts to do, looking Grief in the eye can be healing.

Skimmer's Recap: Grief is not unlike visiting the gynocologist: not anyone's favorite, but necessary and sometimes even helpful.

Good Grief: Lessons.

My big sister Patti on the left, me on the right.

i keep thinking of what i have learned this past year from grief and my Favorite Mental Health Professional. What with losing my sister in March it was a pretty intense year that way, leading to many posts with the word "grief" in the title. i think it boils down to a few simple (yet profound) things.

1- Give yourself permission to feel all the attending feelings when they come. This means you may have the blubbering-est face in the universe, you will find depths of snot you never knew you were capable of (where does all that come from??) but you gotta do it. If you don't let it out it just stays in there and festers like that stupid sliver you got when you slid down the railing your mother told you not to.

2- Write about it. There are lots of things i didn't even know i felt until i started writing. Talk about pulling my finger out of the hole in the dam! Damn.

3- There's no right way to grieve. Yes there are "steps" like denial and anger and all that, but they are really more just "pieces" of grief, and they come randomly and often all together in a big flurry. And how it feels at that moment is just what you gotta feel to get through it.

This may sound too basic somehow, but trust me on this one, it's the truth of it. i've long struggled with thinking i had to make sure i wasn't bothering anyone else with how i felt, but who wants a festering splinter in their bum?

i talked about "clean grief" in this past year of loss--i know it was partly because there was no major weirdness between my sister and i, so i was able to just feel the loss. There wasn't all the "i shoulda" and "why didn't they?" stuff that can follow along in other more complicated relationships we grieve. And since for the first time i felt free to just follow the tide of emotions, be sadder than sad, be so pissed off at life at God at my parents at my brother, was really cleansing.

Mostly i'm tired from it, and i'm still sad about Patti not being in my world. And i guess i wanted to share these few things because if i didn't know about them, maybe somebody else out there needs to read them too.


Skimmer's Recap: Grieving: it's good. Do it.

Poeming: Asking a favor of grief.

Dewy Miley.

 

 

ASKING A FAVOR OF GRIEF.

all I ask of grief is this

that when I lose my fragile hold

on missing you

and sadness overtakes

I would look a bit more like

a Hollywood starlet, glowing,

tragic and dewy

and less like me, snotting,

wrinkly and red

and that it would not come

to visit at inopportune times,

like when I’m preparing for

company.

 

jle 2012

Good Grief observes the holidays.

I had read at one point in my grief research (yes, that is me, don't just HAVE it, read MORE about it!) where someone said that month 8 often saw a resurgence of grief for a loved one. So I kept a squiggy eye out for it around November, the beginning of the Season of Overeating.

 

Of course holidays carry their own special sting with the loss of a loved one, and Thanksgiving was no different. I charged cheerfully into the meal preparation, determined to enjoy the process and drag joy out of even the grocery shopping. Dammit, I'm gonna have me some JOY!

And I did. I talked to strangers in the grocery stores, one time offering a listening ear to a man with the "deer in the headlights" look mumbling to himself and whoever was nearby, "Can I defrost a turkey in a day? Should I just buy a fresh one?" I love these moments, because I am not a cook, but I can appear as a Martha Stewart Angel to a stranger. For a moment, (a moment I hold closely to my heart,) I can APPEAR to be an all-knowing goddess. After I told him how much more I had spent on a fresh, brined turkey at Trader Joe's the day before, he decided to buy the fresh instead of frozen one. (Though it may have been the less Martha Stewart part of me and more the *real* me saying, "I dunno, mine is always still partly frozen" that won him over....)

Anyway, shopping came and went, and the chopping and peeling commenced. I remained calm and somewhat joyful. But once the major things were prepped and I went off to shower and get out of my baggy sweatpants and into something more guest appropriate, it hit me.

Even if I didn't talk to my sister every Thanksgiving, even if it was more of a pre or post "What did you have? Who was there?" conversation from our separate states of California and Oregon, I COULDN'T.

 

Not even if I wanted to.

 

Fortunately, this disolving julie has awesome children who actually and weirdly LIKE to cook, and they took over and finished up dinner while I used cold water and makeup to cover up the sudden grief that had overtaken me. Did I mention they're awesome?

 

And now, going into Christmas, I've decorated a Patti Tree, clothing it in her colors of purple, green, and blue. And when I see it I smile. And I hear her saying, "I wish I could be with you guys for Christmas, you're so much fun!" And I think of Patti, and I miss Patti, but I have a sense of her with me, surrounding me.

My "Patti tree" complete with Penny the cat.
Just the way she would have liked it.

 

I'll try to hold onto that happy feeling when it's time to wash the Christmas dishes.

 

 

Skimmer's Recap: Grief is normal, grief is good. Pass the turkey.

 

 



Poeming: In the company of my sister.

the Elder's Christmas tree 2012, a kinder,
gentler tree than the usual julie-riot of reds.

IN THE COMPANY OF MY SISTER


I choose her favorites:
blue, green, purple,
shop
for ornaments,
a blue star
for the top.
My tree is alive with
her colors
and I am in
the company of my sister
once again.

 

 

jle 2012

 

Written for Poetic Asides Wednesday Poetry Prompt of "In the company of _____"

 

 



 

Another poetry prompt: a chant. For Patti.

 

 

FOR PATTI.

 

missed all my appointments

right after you died

just couldn’t care

just couldn’t try

I still can’t believe you’re not here

 

waited all day for my birthday

phone call

for the sound of your laugh

but your voice is gone

I still can’t believe you’re not here

 

and I’m making dinner

the same as before

and I go to the bank

and I go to the store

and I still can’t believe you’re not here

 

 the tether is broken

from me to the ground

and I’m floating away

like a winter’s day cloud

and my heart’s just a sigh

in the midst of a crowd

and I still can’t believe you’re not here

with me.

WAITING: a poem.

WAITING.

and Fall drags on, saluting death

morbid gala for what was lost

one day at last Winter’s end.

and I, holding on with my fingernails,

hope to last next season’s cold,

as I wait

for my aching soul’s

sudden

 Spring.

 

 

jle 2012

a Wednesday poem.

<INSERT HERE MENTAL PICTURE OF CHARMING CAFE ABOVE BEAUTIFUL BEACH>

INSIDE/OUTSIDE


inside my head

we are young

and sitting just above

the beach,

outside a café

in the sun,

inside my head

we are young.

I love you and

I miss you still

outside my head

where you are not,

and traveling to

a made up world

i close my eyes

and sit with you.

Good Grief: Stuck on a Song.

My sister's been everywhere lately: in the whimsical cosmos flowers she loved that i see alongside the road, in the things that make me think "Oh! i need to remember to tell Patti about this!" In the stories i tell new friends. In a song on the car radio.

A few days ago i was sitting in a parking lot listening to the radio, and my ears caught the words, "I still need you. I still miss you." and my heart answered Yes I Do! The song was "A Thousand Miles" by Vanessa Carlton, and sounds like a song about a lost love. But then i guess my sister is a sort of "lost love," i mean, i loved her, and now i've lost her on this earth.

The words "I still need you. I still miss you." struck deeply. And my heart attached itself to the song. So i looked it up on You Tube when i got home. The sad bit is, Vanessa, no matter how talented i think you are, you whine when you sing, and at 58 perhaps i no longer have the patience for whiny singing. i'm sorry.

So i went on a You Tube hunt.

i watched videos of other artists singing the song, including a prepubescent boy named Jared Cardona (nicely done!) a collaboration by musician Alex Goot and the Boyce Band (i'd never heard of either, but they are on iTunes so they must be real, right? Anyway, a beautiful version of the song) and a version done by a band called The Directive (metal-ish? very loud and aerobic and fun and actually quite good!)

It was time well spent--i was feeling slightly guilty for doing so little Of Importance like ______ (fill in the blank with any of the eight million projects/chores/etc i could be doing.) But i'm learning, this grief is good. i still need her. i still miss her. i've never been a fan of pain of any sort, emotional or physical, but the pain just builds up if i don't express it.

Anyways, good song, look it up.

Skimmer's Recap: "And i still need you, And i still miss you, And now i wonder If i could fall into the sky, do you think time would pass me by? Cause you know i'd walk a thousand miles if i could just see you tonight." Well said, Vanessa Carlton.

A Mama-shaped hole.

I've been reading the book "Before Green Gables" by Budge Wilson for book club. If you're at all familiar with the Anne of Green Gables character in the books by L. M. Montgomery, you'll probably know that her story begins as a twelve-year-old orphan girl who is accidentally placed with Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert at Green Gables when they had requested a boy to help on the farm. Her unique, imaginative wonderfulness ends up endearing her to them and they decide to keep her after all.

According to the acknowledgements in the book, the senior editor at Penguin books wanted the woman oddly (or interestingly) named "Budge" to write a prequel to the Anne books, answering a big question of mine: "What would possess someone to mess with my favorite book series of all time??" The voice of the writing is fairly similar to that of Lucy Maud Montgomery's, helping to fit this book into the series somewhat seamlessly. After I got over my initial annoyance that someone would decide to fill in the early years spoken of in the Anne books, I've actually enjoyed it.

"Enjoyed" may not be the best word, since it's brought up a lot of my own feelings of "orphan-ness." The irrepressable Anne Shirley lost her parents to illness when she was a baby, then spent her next years as an unpaid servant to two different families with many children, being forced to earn her keep by washing diapers, preparing dinner, and watching the younger children from an age at which most of us were still sucking our thumbs. She keeps from losing all hope of goodness in the world by imagining better and happier worlds.

My Favorite Mental Health Professional, Stephanie-the-therapist, told me that grief can stir up our old hurts. Since my sister's death in March I've been living that out. The Anne books give a whisper of her early trials, but the Prequel revels in fleshing those trials out--while showing how she maintains her hopeful nature. All that flesh is tough to see (I'm pretty modest.) And it's reminded me of the "mama-shaped-hole" in the middle of me, though I lack the awesomeness of Anne to compensate for it as she does (but then, she is fictional. But awesome.)

Be assured, this isn't meant to be a "poor me!" post, it's just a (really long) statement of the feelings the book has stirred in me. I've had people play the "I had it worse" game with me before, such as when one acquaintance said to me while bemoaning her absent father, "Well at least you HAD a father!" I refrained from speaking the thoughts in my head which ran something like this: "Ah yes, a father who when drunk might pull out his gun and hold us hostage on the living room couch threatening that he could 'put us all in the ground,' or who had a thing for handling my older sister in ways a daughter should never be handled. Yes, good ol' dad!" Instead I merely clamped my jaw shut and grimaced the pretense of a smile. I'm not trying to "one-up" anyone here, or invite you to my pity party, as I am fully capable of carrying that on by myself.

When I was young and I'd be home from school because I was sick, I loved that my mother would put a chair by my bed or the couch to put my book and water on, and she'd let me use the Special Blanket her mother had given her, made of yellow flowered fabric that felt like a entire blanket of satin binding. This for me was "love" and "nurture." Not to be mean, but she didn't enjoy giving of herself, so the nurturing was in things. But I missed out on the actual person.

BUT, both parents were creative, and my sister and I learned that from them. There are always positives to be found by those of us foolish enough to be optimistic while face to face with flesh-eating zombies ("well maybe I'll finally lose these hips!") And I am a Big Girl and know that Life Is About Choices--the choices I make every day in what I do, or who I choose to be.

I guess all that to say this: "Before Green Gables" has made me look again at the Mama-shaped-hole in me, the part of me that wishes she had a nurturing mama to cry to, to help mourn the too-early loss of Patti. That need seems to have stuck with me my entire life, but the recent sadness and then reading the story of unloved Anne has pushed it into visibility. Trust me, I hate that I'm an adult of 58 and can still feel that pain at times. Blecch. Grief is hateful. But neccessary (or so They tell me.)

SO MAMAS, love your babies and children, kiss on 'em and tell them how special they are to you simply because they're alive. Enjoy them, even when they're loud and driving you crazy making popping noises with their mouth non-stop (like a certain son I just might have.) Build that strong place in the middle of them, that warm mama-shaped love place that sticks with them even when they're 58.

And if you love the Anne of Green Gables books, and don't cry like a big baby over sad stories, read the book. It does manage to capture Anne's spirit (she admits begrudgingly.)

Skimmer's Recap: Not a bad book. Made me a little "Emo" though.

Spring healing.

from gardenblog.projo.com

Last day of Poem a Day therapy for me over at Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides blog. The prompt: write a fade-away poem.

My offering:

FADE

I’m drawn outside
by the
first lilac on my tree
knowing
you’ll never see
leaving me to
rock and keen
the sudden
loss of you
Spring’s early heat
wraps its arms
around me
enfolds
like a mama holds
her child,
kissing my face
soothe
soothe
here now
here now
e
v
a
p
o
r
a
t
i
n
g
my
tears

Sincere grief.



attributed to The New Yorker

TODAY, day 29 in Robert Lee Brewer's Poem a Day Challenge, the prompt is to take a line or image from one of our earlier poems and write a new poem around that.

Since i've been using it as free therapy, i decided to do my poem based on the 5 stages of grief found here, pulling lines from different poems during the different stages i've tracked my muddy footprints through over the past month. Again, therapeutic! i highly recommend it.

i make no claims of great eloquence, but i can guarantee the sincerity of my writing, so that counts for something, right?


STAGES

But I just talked to you days ago
and you’re so present within these walls
I can’t believe I’ll never hear your voice again
if our parents weren’t already ashes
I would burn them to the ground
I can’t stand the wounds they caused you to live with
and if I could just rewind my life
I’d call the day before--
your being gone severely messes with my head
and I don’t know just how I’ll make it
I don’t know how I’ll survive
I’m leaking gravity, and I may just blow away…
and I’m waiting for acceptance
though it hasn’t shown up yet
it’s an aching pain, I’ll miss you quite a lot.

Poetic therapy, day 28.

photo borrowed from uk-telephones.com

Day 28 of the Poem a Day Challenge on Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides blog. The prompt today:
write a problem poem. The poem could be about a problem the narrator is suffering through, or someone else’s problem. Or a math problem.


RAW

 and it’s been forty-nine days of
waking up remembering
you’re really gone and that
not having you on the planet is
severely messing with my head
and today I let the dogs out and
made some coffee
before I remembered I can’t call
you on the phone today but
it was a whole twenty minutes
this morning
a whole twenty minutes before
the empty space spoke up
and I don’t know if that’s a problem
I should be facing or if
maybe just a tiny bit of rawness
in me
is healing