cracked open

Shuffling though the dirt, half heartedly pulling weeds. I feel the deep cool dirt surrounding my fingers juxtaposing the blazing sun beating at the back of my neck. Behind me I hear the quiet commotion of the house across the street... Cars of family members and friends pulling up to arrange and prepare. How strange it is to be a bystander in this process now after having gone through loss of my own. 
I hear and see the need to do. 

“I’ll get ice." 
"Do we have enough chairs?"
"Let’s pull cars up to make more room.” 

All the fussing and doing, because what else is there to do? Keeping hands busy and worrying about little details that don’t matter now, nor will they ever. The real reason, I can see now, is that once the 'doing' stops, you have to notice the glaringly obvious absence. That one person who would normally be at the center of all this commotion, tying all of these people together. So you fuss, and plan, and clean, and distract. You have to, to keep your heart pumping and your will going. 

Noticing me in the garden, he begins to stumble over across the road and raises a hand to gesture hello. 
“So I’m sure you’ve noticed all the cars at the house lately,” he calls out still approaching
I nod. 
“Jackie died last week,” he states numbly stopping in the middle of my yard. 
I nod. 
His voice is heavy and light at the same time. His eyes are looking at me, and even though I barely know him, I can tell he is not here. It's like he’s looking at my face but can only see hers. I know this feeling, though I couldn’t describe it at the time I felt it myself. 
w h a t d o I s a y n o w?
No one experiences loss the same, and honestly there isn’t anything to do but busy yourself until your heart is ready to process and mend itself. 
“I'm so sorry. We are here for you if you ever need anything,” is all I’m able to manage, then start internally kicking myself at how dumb it sounds in my own ears. He invites me to their house, his house... this afternoon for a gathering, "of course, we will be there." 
Turning back to my weeds and dirt, I busy my hands and wonder at how strange it is to be in such a place of grief and then notice a shift. A friend and I were talking about Jackie the other day, and I remembered how last year seems like a blur to me, when I was so wrapped in my own grief that I don’t know what happened in March or September. And this year, while it’s still with me, the load seems lighter, like my brain said, 'ok you can feel and see and remember again.' Seeing Daniel in his blur of fresh grief brought me back to that intense sensation of numbness and remembering the doing, just to keep feeling purposeful.

Shuffling through the dirt I see an acorn cracked open and starting to sprout. I feel it’s hard smooth shell and notice the cracks where the tender green bud miraculously nosed it’s way through. Seemingly impossible, it’s found light. 
And I remember the quote from Cynthia Ocelli:

“For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn't understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.”

O N E Y E A R

2 . 6 . 18

The river is so full today
churning sandy earth
into deep waters
lapping the edges of higher rock
I step off trail
'round the sloshy mud packed path
and forge a new way on
watching water crash
rapid and wild
turning foamy and white
I see where water seems still
murky from the turbulent undercurrent
awaiting a turn to let loose

I too am so full today
full of
l o v e 
s o r r o w
j o y 
p a i n
full of rushing emotions
fierce and teeming
hiding in the not yet clear waters
pulling at my skin
lapping the ever changing shores
that boarder my grief

Gap of Stillness

There is a gap between the trees
That fills with light
Each day
As I walk my girls on familiar path, through the forest
Like an open window
Nestled above a bench, facing the stream
Where I used to stop and sit
Each day
No matter the season
Through trees bearing leaves,
And branches turn barren
I would sit in communion with the light shining through.

For many months I couldn't,
Or wouldn't
Stop to sit
I felt the light come through as I walked on by
Like an old friend reaching down
Tapping my shoulder,
Asking me to stay a while
"No time to stop"
I'd say to no one in particular
Pushing past
Hurrying the curious noses of my two babies
Urgently moving,
"Just keep moving"

But today as my friend called again,
Tapping on my shoulder like she always does
I sat
And I felt the warmth of the sun shine on my face
Kissing me in gratitude
For stopping by
Looking up I saw the clear blue sky
Shine 'round what's left of the leaves,
Shimmering in brilliant shades of yellow
And I heard the crunch of fallen sister leaves,
Brown and dried, rustling under nearby paws
I felt the gentle tug of two leashes on my wrist
Trying to pull me on,
And that fearful voice in my head kept whispering,
"Just keep moving"

But I stayed a bit longer
Soaking up the goodness of the light filled gap.
Realizing by rushing past to numb
Grief and fear and pain
I had misplaced my gap of stillness
To feel
Joy and light and peace

Emptiness into Shadow

Fast moving clouds

leave light

shifting shapes

on bare bedroom walls

turning emptiness into shadow

and back again

What is grief?

I could give an answer

of what I thought it was

of what you’d expect it to be

How do you describe

the intangible  

when words you thought you knew

are now simply letters arranged

on blank pages

When light disappears

for too long at once

the vast space

seems to swallow me whole

and my breath

needs reminding

of its natural steady pattern

coaxed in

sweet-talked out

But clouds keep shifting

and light continues to find

its peculiar way through

Oklahoma Wind

That Oklahoma wind came to visit me today

-strong invisible power-  

I sat and watched as it guided 

tall grasses and young trees

I sat and watched as it helped them discover

their own unique ways 

to bend and bow

I felt that Oklahoma wind

as it kissed my cheeks,

and ran gentle fingers through my hair

and I knew she was here

singing sweetly,

‘Amelia Claire, I love your hair’

Eyes closed, that Oklahoma wind 

swept me back home

and my tears became

film projections 

of near forgotten memories

when white eyelet lace curtains

danced between open windows,

and cornflower blue bedroom walls

And so I sat and watched,
entranced 

as she sang to me

soft and steady,

drawing fingers through my hair

sacred ground

Walking in the forest
I see one after another; 

tiny dew drops resting on young leaves 

They collect and share light

like soft fleeting diamonds 

Viridescent moss crawls up the deep saturated trees, 

encircling their trunks 

like delicate lace hems 

Tender white petals sprinkled down the trail, 

are commingling with fallen foliage 

of seasons past

Scattered further and further from their source, 

they bring their message with them: 

Spring is here

My puppy's curious nose follows a small purple butterfly,

 no bigger than my thumbnail, 

as it flutters low 'round the ivy 

 She watches from a distance, 

seeming to sense its magic 

Wandering along the creek

I start to weep 

My tears fall below me 

like salty sea cousins of the fresh morning dew,

 gritty and rugged as they splash the ground 

How does the dew form in perfect round droplets? 

My grieving pauses in a moment of thanksgiving

for this beauty surrounding my feet

Though my head hangs heavy 

I am soothed by this sacred ground 

that receives my weight

one step at a time.

no words

Today marks one month since I left ATL and arrived in Oklahoma.
It has been 31 days since my grandmother Celia passed away.
It has been 26 days since my great Aunt Jan passed away.
It has been 23 days since I called an ambulance to take my mother to the ER, and on to ICU.
And it has been 5 cloudy, heart wrenching, sporadic uncontrollable sobbing days since I watched my mother take her last breath.

This is all still so raw and so very very sad that words like 'sad' seem to have lost their meaning. I still don't really know what is happening. And don't know how long this feeling will sit heavy on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

But I do know that my mother and the generations of strong women before her, two of whom we also just lost, have raised my sister and I to be strong and adventurous and loving women. And I feel that in my blood and my bones, even as it's hard to move and speak. I am forever grateful for the powerful village of amazing people my mother stitched together like a beautiful warm quilt, now wrapped around Carrie and I. This will take time, but we will be ok. Love you all. Miss you with all my heart, Mama.