I’m stepping out of my comfort zone, pushing myself to stretch my creative muscle and continue to learn. That’s nothing new (not really). It feels like my life has been in flux for the past 6 years, shifting from one life-altering upheaval to the next.
This evolution is self-inflicted, though. I’ve found myself feeling stagnant and needing to be jolted out of my near zombie state.
I’ve thought about embarking on this new path for a while, and with the help and push from just the right people- here it is. My first poem video.
If you spend the 2 minutes watching it, I would appreciate any feedback, reactions, or suggestions you may have.
Here, poetry and art collide; and, more than anything, I hope it inspires you to keep (or start) creating.
It still takes my breath away. Realizing there never will be any new pictures. After I’ve recycled all the best and my favorite photos of us, of you… there will be no others.
No new memories to be made. No more laughter at silly mistakes. No more time to get things right. No more chances at a marathon. No new medals or PR bells.
The rush of anger that overtakes me— still, after 4 years— of letting go of everything we had and all that we wanted. It surprises me even now.
I have work to do. Some that I’ve tackled. Some that I’ve used simply to keep me busy and preoccupied. Some that I continue to avoid. Mainly because I fear what it will cost me in the doing.
Because I am afraid.
Of feeling too much.
Of feeling not enough.
Of forgetting.
Mostly— I am afraid of forgetting.
Happiness no longer shames me. But, if I am smiling in the now, will I still be able to hold your face in my mind? Will I still hear the echo of your laughter when I close my eyes? Will my stubborn determination to see the light of each new day still allow a space for you?
I believe it does.
Because even 2,103,840 minutes have not dulled the sharp edge of your loss. Fourteen hundred sixty-one days without you have not lessened the love you left behind.
Cloudless October sky, so much like the day you left. I wrap its beauty around me as grief twists and knots within me, and I acknowledge that I am capable of holding both simultaneously.
It is the complexity of our uniquely human experience. And I do not want to miss out on any part of it.
Have you ever been frustrated by misplacing something important? Thinking you’d lost it for good?
Your check card you didn’t know was missing until getting ready to pay for the $200+ of groceries in the supermarket checkout lane with 5 impatient customers waiting in line behind you. Or your favorite pair of shoes you’ve torn your whole house apart looking for because you can’t remember the last when or where you saw them. Or that favorite tshirt you always wear when you need a little extra luck but haven’t seen since you threatened to burn it after your football team lost that last heart-wrenching game.
I am a creature of habit. Few things frustrate me to the point of insanity like having to look for something that is not in its designated spot. Neurotic or not, I’ve always believed that if you put things in the same place and return them to their place after each use, you won’t have to waste time searching for them or taxing your brain to remember the last place you put them. But even the best systems fail sometimes; and I live alone, so I can’t even blame anyone else for sabotaging my system (lol).
And so, when I lost my car key SIX MONTHS ago, I was mystified by its disappearance.
I remember the last time I saw it. March 7th. I was packing for a trip and had emptied my purse onto my bed. Transferring all my necessary items into a different bag, I distinctly remember thinking there was no point in taking my car key. It’s a bulky, heavy metal fob that I just did not want to carry around with me unnecessarily. And since I would not be driving my car to the airport the next morning, there was really no need to have it with me at all.
Beyond that very specific and vivid memory, I have ABSOLUTELY NO RECOLLECTION of what I did next with that key fob.
I remember continuing to pack, going to bed, getting up the next morning, having a wonderful trip over the next week, and safely returning home. Not until the day after my return did I realize, in a panic, that I could not find my key. I searched everywhere I could think. Luggage. Desk. Every junk drawer in my house. Under the bed. Under the mattress. Laundry hamper. Washer. Dryer. Every nook and cranny of my closet.
Nothing.
Over the following weeks I continued to search. Couch cushions. Outdoor furniture cushions. Refrigerator. Deep freezer. Trunk of my car. Under car mats and in the console and glove compartment. Every drawer of my chest of drawers and nightstands. Jacket pockets. Pants pockets.
Still nothing.
I gave up. Resigned myself to never find that key fob and grateful that I at least had the spare to use.
For the next few months, a friend would randomly ask about my lost key and if I had found it. “Nope,” was always my answer. Then nothing more would be said about it until it randomly made its way into our conversation again. It was gone. No use spending time worrying about it. But, occasionally, I would wonder at its mysterious disappearance.
Then, this morning as I was transferring the items from one purse into another, I noticed something in a small pocket of the inner lining of the purse I have been using for the past 2 weeks. It was an odd shape, and I didn’t remember putting anything in particular into that pocket. I ran my finger down into it to pull out whatever it was and was shocked to find my long-missing key fob. I laid it on the desk and quickly checked my wallet for the fob I’ve been using to make sure I wasn’t mistaken. For a long minute I just stared at both of them, not believing that missing fob had been here the whole time. Right under my nose. Tagging along with me everywhere I’ve been in the past two weeks, even while I believed it was lost forever.
Which got me thinking… Isn’t it just like that sometimes? Life, I mean. All the things we cannot see, that we assume are lost or non-existent because we can’t see them, that are right here with us all along.
Like the love of someone who has passed on? Or the loyalty of a friend? Or a faith that sustains us through the toughest times? Or the support of a community that is interwoven through every thread of our lives?
My life is filled with the goodness of all these things; and yet, sometimes I forget. Sometimes I despair and stumble and flounder. Sometimes I fall face down and think I don’t have the will or energy or desire to get back up again. And then somewhere, in the most random moment and unexpected place, I find a treasure hidden in a pocket. And I am reminded that what I thought was lost has been with me all along.
Friends in the Central Louisiana area, look for upcoming announcements on availability at local retail locations.
Thank you to everyone who has already ordered! “Pretty Little Widow” is currently at number 10 on the Amazon New Releases in Poetry by Women list!!! Thank YOU!
This project has been one more step in my journey through grief. I am grateful for the friends that have traveled with me and the lessons of love I am learning on the way.
Tonight, a family has lost their 22-year-old daughter. Tonight, 150 miles away, a family has lost their mom, their wife, their grandmother.
Tonight, I feel broken and exhausted; weighed down by grief. My tears, hot and angry, question the purpose of suffering. The inexplicable complications of life. The meaning of … everything. Why we love. Why we die. And mostly, WHY must we lose the people we love.
This is Holy Saturday. A sacred time of reflection in the darkest of days before the single most important day in our Christian faith. Sunday- Easter morning, all the churches will sing their Alleluias and proclaim the resurrection of the Messiah. There will be trumpets, brass bands, smiling robed choirs, brightly colored dresses, and newly shined shoes. We as a united people of faith will exalt in the promise given to us that Jesus died for us, to deliver us from sin and death, and lead us to the kingdom of God.
Sunday morning.
But tonight… Tonight it is dark. Quiet. Mournful. Tonight is full of anguish, questions, and anger. Tonight, it is difficult to think of Jesus healing the sick when so many people I know suffer from illnesses and traumas perpetrated upon them. Tonight, it is difficult to remember how Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead when innocent lives have been taken through random accidents or intentional violence. Tonight, my faith wavers because I can find no answers to my questions.
Those who grieve new loss tonight, on the eve of Easter morning, likely can see no hope of the sun shining again. Maybe they cannot imagine there being truth in a distant promise of redemption. I can understand that because I’ve been in that darkness before. I have lived there, gasping to breathe, praying for deliverance even when I could not see a possible way for it.
Those who suffer tonight, choking on the questions in their throats, are desperate for answers. I have none. I have no pretty words to soothe. No platitudes to dish out on fancy trays or champagne flutes of trite clichés to swallow down in one easy gulp.
Through my own dark night of the soul, I asked plenty of my own questions. Screamed them. Shook my fist at the sky. Cursed God. Cried. Prayed to God. Begged for the cup of grief to pass from me. And when it would not, I dug deep within myself to search for whatever of value remained. What I found, when I was brave enough to look, was love. A deeper empathy for others. A flash of understanding that life is temporary, and that is precisely what makes it so special and valuable. I discovered that the people in my life who love me are what deserves my closest attention, and that every moment of Now demands to be lived.
If in your darkness you cannot yet see the sunlight of Easter morning, I hope you can at least feel the warmth of that light as it surrounds you. And I hope you choose to lean into it.
“I still believe You’re the same yesterday, today, and forever. And I still believe Your blood is sufficient For me.”
This graph on the stages of grief is the most helpful I have ever come across. Someone shared it in a Facebook group, and I saved it. I do not know the original source. If anyone recognizes it and can cite the source, I would be grateful!
This graph is an incredibly helpful tool for anyone grappling with loss. It is vital to be able to identify each emotion as they come rushing in like a wave in order to know which coping skills on which to rely in any given moment or day.
I am grateful to have a new tool. I can use all the help I can get.
The world has lost another soul. A family has lost its father. Grandfather. A life partner. A brother. A friend. A life Force.
Clyde Johnson was one of the warmest, robustly full of life people I have ever known. He was always smiling. Even now, I can hear his jolly laughter echoing in my memory.
His loss leaves a hole in the lives of those who knew and loved him. He will be missed, but he leaves a legacy of love in his absence. I hope those who loved him best can feel the warmth of that love embrace them in the coming days.
3 brothers united again: Clyde Johnson, Calvin Johnson, James Johnson (seated)
Shelley Jinks Johnson 