a private grief

This past week – in my dis-ease – I looked out the same window that Chris spent many a day gazing through, as his body broke down. I remembered his silence, his privacy. I converged with it a little further, as I too feared from within my body. And I too said nothing.

rock me mama

Each hand on the other elbow. Heavy cotton, the only thing holding her in. Enshrouding her. She watched them go.

In Celebration of Dying Young

Death is all around us at the present moment. Covid is taking people we know, or it is feeding fears of our own death. For me, Will is a reminder that death can be a celebration, even when the circumstances argue otherwise.

in tens

. . . . the realization when you look back is that you have moved forward, in both what you have accomplished and in how you have made mistakes.

carry on

Maybe having my baggage checked isn’t about putting it away, but rather opening it up to take a look-see at who it is that I am sharing . . .