the other side waking up to news of you not waking up— it never gets easier. not even if you were 85, not even if I’d only just learned of your existence, or all those tragedies that lie somewhere in between. all that matters is that you mattered, and now you’re gone. and it doesn’t feel real. my body wants to reject the wave of this grief. I cannot bear to go beneath the waves— not again. and I say those words, not again, as though I don’t know that life is fragile and precious and impossible to control or predict. it feels like insult. like injury. and I know in some way, it is both. but also— there is a picture in my head of a desert and an oasis. a lake glassy and pure, crashes over a rocky cliff to a pool below. I am sitting nearby beneath the shelter of a cottonwood tree, and you are laughing, and splashing your way up to the waterfall. perhaps you reached your hand in first, the water pouring over your skin in sparkling rainbow rivulets. or perhaps you stepped through the crashing water all at once. But I? I sat up straight beneath the shade of the cottonwood, and leaping to my feet I ran to see the place where you’d gone. there was no trace of you. but I can still hear you laughing, just there— on the other side.
It’s been a heavy week this week and as often happens during heavy times, my words are coming out poetry. Our family has been grieving this week for the tragic loss of my husband’s vibrant and beloved cousin Victoria, but this poem is also a recreation of a part of a poem I wrote for my brother and sister in law when they lost their first little one to miscarriage.
Grief comes in so many shapes and forms, and none of it is easy. Whatever losses you may be grieving today—I hope this poem meets you.
And if you find yourself resonating with poems about the pain that inevitably seems to come with love, then you will probably love my upcoming poetry book As the Sparrow Flies which is due to release early next year. Be sure to subscribe to stay in the loop on all the upcoming details.
Gracie
Oh Grace, I’m so very sorry 😞 My heart hurts for yours. This was a lovely and warm piece of memory and grief. Thank you so very much. As always, grateful. Susan