The River of Denial

Sometimes, it is difficult to get through this grieving thing. It’s not like people encourage me to trudge up the steps along the bereavement path. In fact, I’m more likely to hear encouraging words such as, “You should just get over it,” or “It’s been six years. Time to get on with your life.”

At first, I wanted to sharpen my knives and carve the smiles off the faces of such well- wishers. Having landed somewhat precariously on the other side of the water, I now understand that most people would rather swim in the river of denial than face up to the pain that the grieving process entails. They don’t want to mention Nik’s name or talk about him. Although these activities bring me comfort and help me swim across my river of grief, it causes them discomfort and forces them to confront the missing. It makes them cry.

To me, the tears I shed for Nik honor his memory, and wash my pain clean. I have accepted that these tears are simply a piece of the puzzle, and in order to find the missing pieces and put myself back together, healthy, happy, and whole, I have to dive in and confront the dark emotions that cause discomfort and tears.

I will continue to honor my son in song, in prose, in poetry, and in tears. I actually feel sorry for those that take the easier and softer way, floating on the placid waters of denial. Although the grieving process can cut like a rusty razor blade, the grieving process has forced me to grow up, and shifted my perceptions like the reflections created by a kaleidoscope. I see the world in full color, am more likely to cry, but also, am more likely to laugh.

How Long?

How long has it been? A little over 6 years, and yes, time does heal, or smooth the rough edges. I remember waking up every morning howling, and basically incapable of facing the day, much less the rest of my life (his cut out completely). The hole, still visible, but filled with numerous activities and creative endeavors, no longer threatens to devour me, and I tell myself little stories, such as Nik is my Little Girl’s guardian angel, and he sent her to me, to convince myself that he is still with me and I am loved…

Milestones

-->

His last milestone in the road now lives in my garden.

A yellow sign, shaped like a triangle,

symbolic of I don’t know what, yield to god,

or wear your seatbelt,

or don’t drink and drive?

I’ve deleted and repeated

rather than cross out and erase.

My brain, as thick as cotton candy only not as sweet,

needs a jolt of caffeine, a shot of adrenalin,

a kick in the proverbial ass.

What is a milestone in the road, anyway?

Is it that deer someone left oozing on the pavement,

or the markers that tick by ad infinitum

so people can judge the distance travelled and the speed of their vehicle.

Isn’t that what speedometers are for?

Perhaps the milestones are more like the flowers in the garden,

that grow taller each and every year,

the corn stalks that soak up the hot rays of sunlight

and inch ever closer to the sky,

the blueberries that bunch up like marbles, begging me to eat them.

Jigsaw Puzzle

When they told me you were dead

I shattered, like a china cup

And went to the bathroom

Where I crawled on the floor,

Looking for my missing pieces.

I continue to put myself back together,

Like a 2,000 piece jigsaw puzzle

Sometimes casting myself as a rainbow

And sometimes as a raging demon.

The final image

Always remains incomplete

As I continue to search

For the missing pieces

of my heart.

Granite Countertops

I wish you had granite counter tops,

sleak and strong, easy to clean.

Something solid for you to lean on

when you needed to do some leaning.

I wish you had a fine soft quilt

made with a reliable backing,

Topped with your favorite colors,

so that you could wrap yourself in a smile.

I wish you health and happiness,

 the flow of words forever,

and a pure clear voice to sing them

forth into the world.

I wish you had granite counter tops,

strong and sleak, easy to clean

something solid to lean on,

when you feel like you’re falling.

Too Brief

Too brief

The days of summer

The air heavy and light

Like a hot balloon

Floating.

Too brief

Your short life

Ended before it began

Like a bolt of lightning

Flashing.

Too brief

The glimpses of sanity

Knitted between bouts of insanity

Like the threads of your shirt

That I still wear.

Too brief

Your scent no longer lingers

And the shirt has scars

Like the ones across my heart

But I don it anyway.