loss-T

 a mirrored image of a woman and wolf rests in the face of the river.

the groundless earth carves its grief into her heart. she falls, alone, to her knees.

the cruelty of eternal love stabs at her finite hands. she grasps the emptiness of loss.

beauty sings around this funeral of hope; birds dance. the sky is persistently blue.

in the hollow well of sorrow, there is a home. she cries to no one at all.

prayers break like dried leaves. wind scatters them in every direction before landing in hidden places.

places where no one goes.

mystery

 do we have a ghost? is our house haunted? are there spirits or faeries inhabiting our home?

a single earbud lost. one worn during the night. the bedroom turned inside out. hours later found under the mattress, in the center of the mattress. 

cleaning out the vacuum canister, a little toy found. nothing we recognize. we replaced the floors and carpets when we moved in. it's no toy we would have. we don't have kids. it's a little plastic warrior looking kind of guy.

my wolf necklace remains at large.

the garage door has opened on it's own, twice in the last couple of days. 

Luna has cried all day long.

things to take notice of.

and, related or not, the pain intensifies and remains intractable. sleep and rest and peace and ease are elusive. grief is great.

twin towers

 there is a remembering today. a memorializing. a giving tribute. Many are retelling their stories of where they were and how it happened for them. I'm adding my voice to the choir.

On September 10, 2001, I was living on Oxford Street in Hartford, Connecticut. By all appearances this was a quiet, residential street, semi-adjacent to Elizabeth Park. That afternoon, I watched the slow motion event and synchrony of a speeding car intersecting and interrupting the perpendicular run across the road of my dog, Scooby. I watched his trajectory take an abrupt turn as his body soared and skidded on the pavement. The car paused, navigated around him, and kept driving. I ran to Scooby as if in a blurred dream, soundless and hollowed. He stood up and, but for a few bloody scratches, shook himself off. I know he was taken to the vet and checked for any signs of internal injury or bleeding, but he appeared to have made it through this horrific collision unscathed. That evening was sleepless; one eye was open keeping close watch on Scooby who, as it all unfolded, was absolutely fine; unharmed but more some bumps and bruises. That's a pit bull for you.

So, on the morning of September 11, I was bleary eyed, worried still and doing my best to rouse myself and make it to my morning rehearsal for the dance company I was working with at the time. On my drive to the rehearsal studios at Trinity College, I listened to the radio and I vaguely registered that a plane had crashed. It wasn't uncommon to hear news bits like that on the radio. Things happened in the world every day and the reporters talked about them. My thoughts were with Scooby.

I walked into the studio and felt the slow dawning that something was wrong. Everyone there was talking about a plane that had crashed into the World Trade Center. It wasn't quite processing. Once everyone had arrived, we transferred to the cafeteria in order to find a television. Amid the din of clanking silverware and cafeteria chatter, more and more people began to orient to the unfolding events on the screen above our heads. Some people were still in the world where nothing had yet changed, carrying on conversations and laughing. My friend, Alicia, one of the kindest and gentle spirits, exploded in an angry outburst at the people still talking while most everyone, like a terrible game of dominoes grew quiet and hushed as they fell into witnessing the unspeakable horror of one of the towers buckling under itself, diving into it's own center and then ballooning outward with a cough of black smoke and dust before there was nothing but a wispy ash trailing downward against the backdrop of an empty sky. The cafeteria froze in time with shock and silence. In a matter of minutes there was nothing left of the two towers but an all encompassing, billowing cloud that penetrated and absorbed every corner of the city.

The sound returned to the room like someone was slowly turning up the volume on a stereo. It crescendoed into Alicia's voice shouting down a couple of people doing construction in a corner of the cafeteria. Her fiancé worked in the towers or walked through the towers daily or something like that. She was distraught. Her shouts turned into tears. Later, we learned that he was fine. He was lucky. 

The rest of the day blurred for me, as it did for many. I don't know how long we stayed there holding each other, crying, finding community in a college cafeteria of students, teachers, construction workers,  cafeteria workers, and our little dance company. We were all together in our disbelief, pain, and shock.

I remember attending a multi-faith vigil at a nearby church that evening, or the next evening, I don't remember the timeline. I sat shoulder to shoulder with such a conglomeration of people; all colors, sizes, faiths, political affiliations. None of what made us different was stronger than the common heart of grief that we shared. I held a woman's hand through the whole service. I don't remember her name but she had a brother who was a firefighter in New York. At the time of the vigil, she didn't know where he was. I think of her. I don't know what happened to her brother. I just know that I prayed for him, for her, for everyone who was touched by this. She and I embraced each other at one point and cried into each others' backs. The whole church, all the people gathered to the seams of the building, recited prayers from many faiths and in several languages. In all it's sorrow, it remains an indelible and poignant memory of the goodness and possibilities of humanity. It's a good thing to remember today, in 2021, as I write in a world gone mad with division and hatred. It reminds me of what humans are capable of. We can, in fact, love one another and hold each other up through a terrible storm.

mourning morning

 I woke up heavy and sad. The good news is that Luna came and slept with me during the early morning hours. I lay on my side and stretch my arms in front of me, connected at my fingers. I make a circle; a heart. I call her and she comes up the bed ramp (designed for Ursa) and curls into the embrace of my arms. It is the most delightful and heartwarming thing we do together. She also woke Robert up in the early morning by knocking things off his nightstand and batting at the twinkle lights we have stretched across our headboard. This is her morning ritual of energy and food. These are signs of life. I breathe.

It takes me a while to turn in bed. All of my muscles have landed in their place and they pull and grab and grumble when I move. It takes me several minutes to turn to my side, sipping breaths from my armored lungs. It takes me a few more to sit and stand. Every day begins with a mandatory thawing in a hot bath.

I am concerned for my mental health. The day is reaching into my room through the windows; sunshine, cool air,  birdsong, green. I long to be asleep even though I'm not at all tired.

Luna cries and I am pierced in the heart; this heart that feels crushed and wrung out. I often get the image of myself laying limp in the dirt, surrendering with each pass of four heavy tires rolling over me. Back and forth. Forward and back. 

Over and over again.

It is challenging to consider launching into a blue sky of day when my wings have been pinned to my side. The smallest efforts can end up in a face plant.

Get up. Breathe. Muck about the day. Name gratitudes. Breathe. Adapt to this new way of being as best I can. Rinse. Repeat.

I am grateful I don't have substance abuse issues. So grateful. There is no doubt I would have relapsed by now and been in more dire straights. I have no doubt. There are things to be grateful for. The beauty may seem out of reach through this dark night, but there have been hands to hold in the dark, my purring beloved coiled in my arms, hot baths, food made for me, sleep, kind care. I just have to make it through. The moon will guide me.

still

 how did I return to work? I don't know. I thought, or felt, or sensed, that it was important to do because I was losing contact with the world in a much bigger way than anything that had come from the pandemic and lockdown. It was a gamble. So far I've been met with kindness, though someone has already unloaded their anger on me. That wasn't an easy day. It required that I sleep the rest of the afternoon; just go numb and get through. I am terrible about responding to friends. I don't know what to say. "I am dead inside"? That's a lot of fun.

I just took a break. Luna woke up crying and so I laid down on the floor next to her, holding a can of cat food that she nibbled on. She licked my fingers and I folded my hand, palm up, under her like she likes to be held. She's always preferred that she rest her weight on top of me. I love this. I settled into the floor next to her bed, my ribcage screaming with pain, and started to sob. I am trying to register and celebrate the life that is here now. She is alive. She is eating. She is licking my hand. She is purring. She is letting me snuggle next to her. "stay in this moment", I tell myself. She is here. She is here. 

And the scream of silence roars at me from the house without Ursa.

I am in the throes of grief; losing one daughter and trying so hard to celebrate the precious time with the other.

I am too delicate for this world. My grief is too wide.

sorrow and fear

 it is all too much.

Luna sleeps and wakes up, wanders, and cries. She eats a little. She drinks a little water. She is mourning. She is preparing to leave me. 

Every day I await a feeling of better. But the pain persists; increases. My wings hug into my spine; coiling and retreating, refusing to expand.  

I sleep and wake up, wander, and cry. I pray. I eat. I drink a little water. I am mourning. I am being carved into. I am earth that had begun to thrive; I have been torn into. The machines have gouged out my heart and senses. I am bereft.

I am lost.

I ache. I ache. I ache.

The world is grey.

and tonight, I brace for another departure. My children. My children. My children.

I am raked open and left to bleed.

I am afraid. 

They have been the foundation of my mental health. my home. my heart. my safety. my reasons to be.

Luna is still here. but, she retreats. I can't bear it. I can't bear to know what's coming.

My heart might fail.

Ursa, I miss you so much. I don't want to stop saying your name or writing it. I don't want you to fade. I want you home. We have never gone this long without seeing each other. I think 2 weeks was the absolute longest we were ever apart. Now it's almost 4 weeks. and every day after this pulls you further from me. I can't...I can't...I can't....

I can't bear to lose Luna too.

I am breaking apart.

This world is too much.

I am so afraid.

I am so full of sorrow.

I am in so much pain.