This, too, is grief

When you lose someone you love, you expect grief. 

Ok, maybe you don't have a full grasp of how grief will be like a tidal wave until it isn't - and sometimes still because it cuts you at your knees or sucker punches you in the gut when you least expect it.

But grief as desperately wrenching as it is in its rawest form - that deep hole in your heart, is not only sadness and anguish.

Of course, everyone has heard of the stages of grief, which by the way were meant to describe a patient coming to terms with her/his own death not that of those bereaved. There is anger. There is denial. All of that along side, in between and at disparate times with the sadness and anguish.

I cannot speak to acceptance - unless you are talking about finally agreeing that your loved one is, indeed, dead - as in not coming back. Maybe. But I think lots of people forestall denial by assuming that they will be reunited at some point in the future or the after world. As I do not hold on to that hope, my denial did have to come to an end - but it lasted a good, long time - when I still saw my sister from the corner of my eye, driving by, escaping death even if it meant abandoning us as well.

But grief is also the aftermath.

This is the part that I don't think people talk about.

It has been a horrible place for me - and I imagine that it is for others as well.

Your life is reconfigured. You are told about the new normal when people can be honest about the fact that it does not get better, just different.

But I was wholly unprepared for the devastation that has been the aftermath in my family.

It's not like a war torn landscape with craters were there used to be houses. That seems so bleak and drastic ... but, sometimes, it really does feel that way.

Not Poetry Thursday, on memory and trauma

We Drink at the Attenuation Well

~Porsha Olayiwola

Motivated forgetting is a psychological defense mechanism whereby people cope with threatening and unwanted memories by suppressing them from consciousness.

            —Amy N. Dalton and Li Huang

              in Badagry there is a hung-

              ry well of water and memory

 

                                                         loss. in Badagry there was a well 

                                                         of people lost across a haven 

 

of water. in Badagry there was

a port overwhelmed in un-return. 

 

                                         to omit within the mind is to ebb

                                         heavenward. memory is a wealth 

 

                                                                 choking the brain in un-respons-

                                                                 ibility. violence in the mind and 

 

                                         the mind forgets in order to remember

                                         the self before the violence begot. 

in Badagry trauma washes ungod-

ly memory heavenward. in Bad-

 

                                       agry there is an attenuation well 

                                       meant to wish away a passage, 

 

                                                                      meant to unhaven a people.

                                                                      violence is underwhelming

 

                                       in return. what the body eats, 

                                       the mind waters. responsible 

 

is the memory for un-remittal. 

royal is the body for return. god is

 

                                                 the mind for wafting. forgetting 

                                                 is a port homeward. in Bad- 

 

                                                            agry hungry memory grows angry.

                                                            in Badagry the memories un- 

 

                 choke. trauma un-eats the royal. 

                 in Badagry there is a heaven 

 

                                                               of people responsible for the birth- 

                                                               right of remembering, for the well 

 

                                              of us across a haven of water

                                              overwhelmed in un-return.

Copyright © 2020 by Porsha Olayiwola. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 17, 2020 by the Academy of American Poets.

Poetry Thursday, late but timely

For Black Children at the End of the World—and the Beginning

~Roger Reeves

You are in the black car burning beneath the highway

And rising above it—not as smoke

But what causes it to rise. Hey, Black Child,

You are the fire at the end of your elders’

Weeping, fire against the blur of horse, hoof,

Stick, stone, several plagues including time.

Chrysalis hanging on the bough of this night

And the burning world: Burn, Baby, burn.

Anvil and iron be thy name, yea though ye may

Walk among the harnessed heat and huntsmen

Who bear their masters’ hunger for paradise

In your rabbit-death, in the beheading of your ghost.

You are the healing snake in the heather

Bursting forth from your humps of sleep.

In the morning, your tongue moves along the earth

Naming hawk sky; rabbit run; your tongue,

Poison to the filthy democracy, to the gold-

Domed capitols where the ‘Guard in their grub-

Worm-colored uniforms cling to the blades of grass—

Worm on the leaf, worm in the dust, worm,

Worm made of rust: sing it with me,

Dragon of Insurmountable Beauty.

Black Child, laugh at the men with their hoofs

and borrowed muscle, their long and short guns,

The worm of their faces, their casket ass-

Embling of the afternoon, leftover leaves

From last year’s autumn scraping across their boots;

Laugh, laugh at their assassins on the roofs

(For the time of the assassin is also the time of hysterical laughter).

Black Child, you are the walking-on-of-water

Without the need of an approving master.

You are in a beautiful language.

You are what lies beyond this kingdom

And the next and the next and fire. Fire, Black Child.

Copyright © 2020 by Roger Reeves. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 16, 2020 by the Academy of American Poets.

My Year of 144+ books.... part 1

I was writing this really long intro to my favorite books of the year, and then I realized I was doing that thing I hate ... making someone read to the end to get to what was promised.

So, instead, I am dividing up the post. I SWEAR this is not a dangling parts post. I really already wrote and POSTED part 2!

...

I set myself a seemingly impossible goal of 12 books per month as my goal for 2019. April was nearly my undoing as I got behind by 8 books. But I used May, June and July to get back in the game. I started choosing "lighter" books, in part, because my book clubs were killing me with long, involved family trauma books. I needed a vacation from my heavy books. But, I also needed lighter fare that I could just get through more quickly to catch up.

I learned a few things. I relax by reading serial killer books. I don't know if others have this as their beach read style. I tried romance novels. But I spent more time gagging and being horrified by the inner monologue of all the female leads than listening to the books.

Sometimes you just have to give up on a book. You don't have to slog through every last word of a book that you hate. Goodreads was not my friend on this. If I said I was "currently reading" something, which was my standard habit: start a book, mark it on Goodreads. It seemed like the easiest way to do it. Then I felt guilty about abandoning the book when I hated it.

Here's how I solved that problem: 1) I created a shelf called "tried-and-hated", and 2) try books for the first forty pages before marking it "currently reading".

I didn't want to lose credit for a book who I had read passed its usefulness, but had already wasted significant hours trying to get into it. And then I wouldn't have to leave a book in the currently reading limbo forever.

Trying books was a hard concept for me because I needed to get through so many books in a month, but necessary, and, in the end, useful. I would go through a library's online available list and download three or four. Then I would try one. And if I didn't immediately love it, go on to the next one. At first, I would send it back to the library if it wasn't love at first listen. Then I realized the issue.

After just finishing a book I had come to love in the listening, any book I tried was never good enough. But I didn't have the luxury of time to savor the book before starting a new one. So, sampling was great. I would listen to a chapter on one, then another and another until the one that would ultimately be my next book was clear. That didn't mean that I abandoned all the others. Since I had already listened to the first chapter, I would go back and give each another try. Sometimes in the second listen, a book would hit. Others never hit, and I sent them back to the library for others to peruse.

If you need to get through a lot books really quickly, trying new things and giving up on them if they are not your cup of tea is the ticket. At the end of the year, you also have a really diverse set of books.

I am trying to figure out which books I liked the best. As I look through my list, I am pleased by the diverse sample of books. It also makes me want to set my sights on new challenges for myself.

This year, I tried to read more Black women writing mysteries. Since I am listening, it turns out to be harder than you think because so many books I want are not available in audio, or not available through the library on audio.

I like some romance books, but there are also lots of romance novels that are not for me.

I really, really like serial killer books. I still don't know what about them makes me feel unencumbered and relaxed. That introspection is for another post.

Lists tomorrow...

ugh, frustration and exhaustion rant, feel free to skip on by

If I were to judge the amount of effort I should put into my work based on the amount of effort (and attention) my colleagues put into their work, then I should not have come to work today.

I should not address any issues facing my content areas until it is too late to do anything about the mistakes. I should, then, say that taking measures to rectify the mistakes would be too risky.

Finally, I should suggest that these are not truly issues, rather, whatever (and I mean whatever) is happening, is, in fact, a direct result of user error. User in this case refers exclusively to the person who has uncovered the mistake.

I am pissed. Can you tell?

In part, I am tired. I traveled all night, and came directly to work from the airport. I did not go home, I did not collect $200. I am coming off a few days reflecting the shortness of life and the choices we make to spend (or not) time with those we love.

I am exhausted, physically and emotionally. I am tired of being one of very few who cares about the outcome of our work.

And, my teacher voice dangerously near to my lips, I want to counsel my colleagues; I want to let them know in no uncertain terms that the time we spend making up excuses for why will not fix what is obviously not working would be better spent looking for a solution.

I often told my students when I was teaching that I preferred not to have the excuse. Excuses are/were completely and utterly meaningless to me.

Day two...
My first impulse is to look for another job. But then I remember that I have faced this issue before although not always in the same exact way.

I need to calibrate my reactions, I get it.

This situation is dangerously threatening to kill my post-vacation glow. I have managed to maintain it through some very trying situations, both personally and professionally, for a few weeks. I did this by straining to see the silver lining every time an obstacle appeared.

After some sleep, I am going to rededicate myself to see shining through these clouds. Wish me luck.

Poetry Thursday

The Average Mother
 ~Camille T. Dungy
The average mother loses 700 hours of sleep in the first year of her child’s life; or, what that first year taught me about America.


Most of us favor one side when we walk. As we tire,
we lean into that side and stop moving in a straight line—
                      so it takes longer to get anywhere,
let alone home.

                      In wilderness conditions,
           where people don’t know the terrain,
a tired person might end up leaning so far into one side
           they’ll walk in a circle rather than straight ahead.

It can kill you, such leaning
                      —and it can get you killed.

                                           Rest helps.

                                                                 I told my husband,

I walked in a circle in my mind but you came out okay.

                      Initially, he asked me to clarify,
           but then he let it go.

Who wrote that first If You Lived Here You’d Be Home by Now sign?

                      It seems I’m going to have to move.

           I am tired and also sick
of helping other people in lieu of helping myself.

                      Rest now.

It's really not that bad: we’re in the home stretch.

           That’s the mind of a parent.
Relentless optimism in the face of sheer panic
                                                                 and exhaustion.

Scenes from my life right now

I keep wanting to write about what's going in my life right now, but then I don't do it.  Not that there is really anything going on ... I haven't applied for more jobs, my current job is giving me less and less hours, I am picking up other gigs on the side, trying to outfit my apartment.

So those are lots of things that are actually happening and it is all my life.

But this is not what is going on for me right now.

A lot of what is going on is being sad, crying, grieving... sometimes to the point of paralysis, but other times just as a release.

I try to keep honoring this process, but I am getting scared about how long it will take ... particularly about how long my savings will allow me to follow the path before I need to just get a job, any job.

I am spending too much time in my space alone ... perhaps too much, maybe just right.

It means most of these pictures are scenes from the doorway of my aparment.

This one is detail on the rain we got a couple of weeks ago... this is the little lemon tree my friend bought me!

[Non sequitur, I want to name it.  I am feeling it is a "him" and the name that always pops in my head is Elroy.  Not sure why, but I haven't really committed to it, yet. Your comments are welcome.]

The view from my apartment is really gorgeous... sunny or cloudy...

 even rainy and with ominous clouds threatening...

And I have been recording the animal visitors...

I guess the good news is that I have been getting out more this past week ... today actually marks day 7 of exercising out of doors ... next picture scenes from my life will reflect that change.

And maybe I will even start writing regularly again ... I can't predict.

Poetry Thursday, holding grief

Feeling pretty overwhelmed with grief right about now, so trying to motivate ...these shots from the plane mirror my feeling of the enormity ... and my desire to gain some perspective.

heartbreak

 Never lose hope, my heart, miracles dwell in the invisible.
 Rumi

 Going through my sister's things, we came across a camera with a photo chip (I can't remember the technical term). 

 These gems were the silver lining of the grief inducing trips down memory lane.

 Seeing her little love through her eyes...

 imagining her asking him to hold up the mountains...

 her capturing his attention to fishing....

 and that face that leaves you wondering what travesuras he was plotting...

Emotional independence?

Someone asked me the other day, after I tried to explain where I am in my life right now, how I was still upright.

It didn't really sink in for a bit.

This sign is on one side of the track & the yellow line ...

It wasn't a criticism.

I get so much of that from myself and others, it is hard not to expect anyone's reaction to be that.

She was saying ... goodness, you have so much going on.

I looked at her and didn't know what to say.


I don't remember, in fact, what I said.

But, I remember what she said next, "You look great!"

She is not a friend, well, maybe she is now... but I had just met her in person for the first time and we were about five minutes into our conversation.

...is on the other side; the train runs between. It's the thought that counts?

I forget to give myself credit... too often.

Things are not as I would like them to be... they certainly aren't as I have planned (and planned b, c, d, e, f, and g).

And they haven't been for quite some time.

I forget how long it's been since I have had my own place, short-term and long-term goals that reflect what I desire, or even the vaguest notion of what I desire.

This hurts... large tears roll down my cheeks as I type this.

But, I am upright.  And even though I may not feel like I look great.  I am ok.

I am ok.

I feel overwhelmed every minute of the day with all that I need to get done, should get done, have promised to do... sitting alongside what I need or must do for myself.  These rarely coincide.

But, I am ok... I get up in the morning, I do what I can, sometimes that means that I just cry for a bit before I deal with the tasks at hand.

I don't know what I want next... it is not clear to me.

And so I haven't committed to a city, a job, a place... and that is not a super comfortable place to be.

I don't have a homebase...except my car right now.

But I think I am doing the right thing by taking my time in making all the daunting decisions ahead of me.

Another day ... we'll see what this one brings.

[These photos are scenes from that day when I had the conversation with my new-almost-friend in Solana Beach, CA]

laugh or cry ....

So, there are days (sadly too many days lately) when I am not sure whether I should laugh or cry.

Sometimes I do both.

Just as a for instance, I give you this.

I went for a run today (hooray), and I was feeling particularly accomplished having made it three whole miles.

I rounded the corner and saw my father's truck still in front of the house.  He had told me he was about to leave when I set out.  When I saw his face, I knew there was something wrong.

He said a guy had come to the house and told my dad that his iphone was in our house.

I can feel my eyebrow raise in response even as I type it.

I knew that my dad had fallen for the scam, whatever it was, and was now really feeling like there was something terribly wrong.

Before we get too far, I will say, so far, it is ok... no one is hurt, nothing was taken, just bruised egos.

The long and the short is that the guy tried to do something with my dad's phone ... not quite sure.  The only thing I could find amiss was that the personal hotspot was turned on and some wild password entered.

After consulting GOOGLE, the police and a good friend who knows much more than I do about anything technological, I backed up the phone, wiped it and restored it with a back up ... after I wiped that hotspot password out of the phone.

I scolded my father about giving out personal information, guided him through a more prudent decision making process when faced with this kind of situation, and finally asked him, why would he believe this person.

The look on his face at the end of this nearly drove me to tears.  He looked scared and confused and teary-eyed when he said, "I don't know."

When I explained the danger of giving out information and potentially letting in people with these kinds of stories, he looked at me, woefully, and said, "I think that guy is working for the FBI or the CIA."

I did not laugh.

But I really wanted to ... and then I wanted to cry again.

He was very serious.  I expected a chuckle... but he was serious.

He was also over his fear... on to the next adventure secure in the belief that I could fix any problem.  Wait, where is my magic wand?

All of it made me want to cry ... but I didn't have the time or the emotional energy to be sad.  So, I laughed... especially at the FBI/CIA connection.

Mondays are hard sometimes...

irons in the fire

When it rains, it pours.

For months, I have been answering adds about studios and apartments to no avail. I couldn't even get answers to my requests.

Then this month the whole scene exploded.  I saw four places.  Two were great, perfect.  But I didn't get the job, so then I didn't know what to do...

But, now there are two very viable possibilities that don't require me to share a bathroom with a stranger.  These are two houses that friends have either just bought or are in the process of buying.  Both great options, except one is in Oakland and the other in Eureka... quite a distance apart.

And I have applied to more jobs -- and taken on two more temporary gigs.

There are a lot of irons in the fire ... and when I finally get branded, not sure at all what it will look like.

Oh, and I am talking to a psychic today because I am feeling overwhelmed by the choices...

And here is a pretty flower: