Tag: loss

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Open Write Day 1 of 3 September 2025 with Kelsey Bigelow

Today’s host of the first day of September’s Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com is Kelsey Bigelow, who works as a mental health poet and renowned author of books, slam poetry events, and writing workshops in Iowa. You can read all about Kelsey and visit today’s prompt and poems here, as she inspires us to think about what lives on the “good side of memories.” Today’s writing is rooted in stream of consciousness writing that can live on in that form or be the start of one that takes root for another.

It’s All in the Kneading and Knowing

the happiest thing

I’ve ever tasted was that moment

when in my grief

soul-gutting tears in a

big-enough-for-all

walls of a VRBO

reverberating sniffles

and crumpled Kleenex

and happy laughs of

oblivious grandchildren playing

with their newest cousin

trying to teach him

to walk at six months

and believing he could

the strains of Amazing Grace

sung to a guitar

by the rest of us trying

to sing with the best of us

believing we could

as we all sat piled high

on the curved couch

pajama-clad, remembering

*******. ********

then one broke the silence

asking for a happier moment

in the autumn – another together

time when smiles returned

then another added

yeah, when

any of us can

make a word from tiles in

turntable Scrabble

and another added

yeah, and only if Mom

brings the pumpkin bread

and right then

in those delicate moments

I knew three things:

that I had taken the reins

as the newest family elder and

that tradition of togetherness

lives on in food tried first

as a flopped recipe

when they’re toddlers, then tested

again and again to perfection

by the time they’re teenagers

and can’t think of gatherings

without it and

that families too

are like that ~

learning to walk

learning to sing

learning to bake

learning to live on

believing

through all the tears and laughter

that together

we can

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Writing Down the Bones Card #1 of 60

The day before I turned 59, I’d just arrived at my brother and sister-in-law’s house after the five hour drive to the coast of Georgia, where I’d spent most of the summer as our father’s illness took a southward turn and he’d joined our mother in Heaven. I am blessed beyond measure that my brother and I get along so well and share a bond that is rooted in caring deeply about each other and honoring the wishes of our parents – and a sister-in-law I wouldn’t trade for the world. After my brother’s many years of waiting for his soul mate, she’s that long-awaited life partner who, while grieving her own father’s loss two months before ours, is helping steer our ship and keeping us focused on what lies ahead. Ken and Jennifer greeted me and helped me bring in my bags – the suitcase and clothes for deep cleaning Dad’s house. I’d had just enough time to hug them hello and pour a glass of Riesling before logging on to meet with a group of writing friends.

At our monthly small-group Stafford Challenge writers’ Zoom in July, my friend Barb Edler of Iowa introduced our writing topic that evening. Here we were ~ Glenda Funk in Idaho, Denise Krebs in California, Barb Edler in Iowa, and me in Georgia – connecting the state dots in a wonky square on the map but connecting squarely with each other after years of writing friendship. We know each other better than most friends who see each other day because ink is our family bloodline ~ we’re writers and readers of each others’ lives. So when Barb brought out the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, she gave us a license to pour out onto the page whatever was on our minds.

The card said, “Begin with ‘I’m thinking of…’ and every time you get stuck, simply come back again to ‘I’m thinking of’ and keep going.”

We did, and we shared. I expressed how much I enjoyed those cards, and a few days later, Barb asked if she could get them for me for my birthday. Since Amazon Prime Days had rolled around, I’d already ordered them, so I confessed I’d bought the set for myself as a gift. Imagine my surprise when a few days later, a box arrived at the door. Barb knows my affinity for postcards and garden fairies, and here was a gift of sheer delight to bring joy to my spirit. I placed the fairies in the front porch plants and began coloring one of the peace-bringing adult coloring postcards designed to help regulate breathing and give the mind rest.

Today, a listish prose poem of all the things I’m thinking of……

I'm Thinking Of

I'm thinking of how my brother and I showed up at Probate Court and the one who gave us the oath noticed that we weren't like all the rest because she said our deep care for each other was visible, not like those fighting ones who get mad if the other gets more than they do ~ and I'm thinking of how I was deeply touched that she could see that my brother and I are more focused on making new memories together, us and our spouses, than quarreling over a set of dishes neither of ever intends to actually use because we'd rather be cruising around Iceland with just a carry-on bag in a pair of familiar blue jeans and worn tennis shoes than having holes in our hearts at our own tables, pouring coffee from an antique Pyrex stovetop percolator that isn't even practical and having no one to remember our lives with.  I'm thinking of how now, we're who each other has to remember all the history.  

I'm thinking of when my sister in law popped around the corner of the sofa with a birthday cake with my name on it, and she and my brother sang Happy Birthday to me, knowing full well that even spending the day cleaning Dad's house and busting our asses and being sore, there was nowhere I'd rather be that day than with them, even if we weren't out exploring the world making new memories.  Because these, too, were new memories - the cleaning and cussfests about all the stuff, all the stuff, all the random impractical collectibles and moldy books, and the sweat and grime of togetherness - this, too, is its own adventure and memory that will never be forgotten.  

I'm thinking of how my writing sisters, the three I meet with monthly and the others I call or who write in different circles with, know me better than the people I see every day because the book is always better than the movie, and with writing relationships people know exactly how you feel and what you're thinking in a way that the face to face ones just have to guess about why you raise one eyebrow from time to time or massage your right temple, never really knowing why and never even asking.  I'm thinking of how we read each other's blogs and are such an eclectic mix of personalities from vastly different walks of life with trauma, sadness, blessing, empathy, understanding, passion, and soft spots of the heart that draw us together as humans and fascinate us about our worlds, and yet how at the end of the day, we are as alike as it gets, as writers.  Just like how Maya Angelou explained us in The Human Family.  We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike.  Maya knew.  She knew.  

I'm thinking of how much more there is to write about and how just this one card conjures every invitation, every memory, to want to be unfolded and to flow from brain to screen as this is happening now, right through my fingertips tapping out the rhythms of life on an Apple MacBook Air keyboard that really is the conduit to healing in all forms, this thinking and tapping and pausing for breath of thought........

And I'm wondering what others are thinking of today and whether they need a card with a prompt to invite them to share, and whether someone would call 911 if I picked a random stranger in WalMart and walked up and asked them what they were thinking of and they said they were thinking I was insane so I needed to be apprehended and taken in for questioning.  

I'm thinking of all those things and more......

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You’ve Been Fighting A Long Time, Dad

In Dad’s final days, he shared stories, words of wisdom, and prayers with us that we will carry with us for the rest of our days. I’ve devoted the month of July specifically to sharing so many of these. There’ll be plenty more in the coming months, but not as a daily energy the way that July has been. I’ve needed this sustained time and focus for the grieving process to occur, and it has served its purpose in moving me through some emotions that needed exercise.

Sometime in August, I’ll attempt to find the strength of emotion to share the story of Dad’s dog, Kona, and her visit to the funeral home to visit Dad one last time – – so that she could understand the truth of what happened.

For now, I’m sharing the audio clip urging Dad to release and take the journey to his final destination. I’m also sharing the link to his obituary and slide show of photos. He was buried in his Georgia Bulldog cap that his friend Nick Doster gave him the night before he died, his doctoral robe, the Denny’s Save the Children necktie made by my son from my youngest daughter’s feet that won the national art contest, and a shirt belonging to Ken’s wife’s son.

https://www.dignitymemorial.com/obituaries/brunswick-ga/the-reverend-dr-haynes-12415041

Perhaps the greatest comfort we find is that Dad died with his arms stretched Heavenward, reaching for all those who love him, who have been waiting on the other side. We know they were there, reaching down to guide him and to greet him, after all his years of standing in the pulpit sharing with others the gospel and the promise of eternal life we know in salvation.

What a moment. What a life. What a promise!

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Saying Goodbye

In Dad’s final days, we recorded some audio clips that will keep him close to us and help us process this consuming grief we are feeling. My brother and I spent countless hours by his side as he reluctantly shifted his weight from this world to Heaven to be with our mother again, a lot like a kid being dropped off for summer camp who wants to go but keeps coming back for one more reassuring hug before being able to go pick a bunk. His words here are powerful reminders to do things while we still can.

There are lessons on this side in the moment of hearing Dad’s recorded words spoken, but there are the realities of this on the other side, once a person has left this world, in seeing so many things that did not get finished. We see it in the unfinished projects, the bookmarks, the tasks, the notes, and the paperwork. My brother stood in the shed last weekend and held up an ornate wooden spindle: for the stair rail we were going to refinish back in the 1980s, he explained. It struck me in a visual way when I walked in his kitchen and saw the Lazy Susan still on the counter, covered in shot glasses that were filled with his medicine doses. That’s how he organized his medicines for the week. I gave it a spin and watched it whirl, then slow, then stop.

Then, I discarded each pill and stacked the glasses in the box I was packing to be donated, wondering where each would land beyond its purpose here in the grand scheme of their own lives as medicine cups before I moved on to the next counter and the cabinet after that and the shelves after that.

How quickly a life shuts down and the physical space once occupied becomes a hollow cavity. A dumpster. A donation box. An estate sale. A few memorable pieces tucked into the folds of our own homes as reminders that what matters truly are the memories – – not the stuff.

no one leaves this world

feeling like they’re finished with

all that needs doing

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Not Enough Left

In Dad’s final days, he tells us stories. In this moment, he admits that he doesn’t have enough left. He realizes the end is very close. We assure him that we are not disappointed in him, that we are proud of him, and that we love him. While these are painful moments to relive, they help tremendously in the process of grief. I’m so grateful to have our voices of togetherness recorded so that they will always remain close and just a click away when I need them most.

Not Enough Left Nonet

no one was disappointed in Dad

when he didn’t have enough left

he’d been fighting a long time

and had lost too much strength

to go on living

we assured him

we loved him

and were

proud

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Dad’s Love for Our Mother

In Dad’s final days, he shared words about his love of our mother with us. We are grateful to have had parents who loved each other their whole lives. In this conversation and in the audio clips we share today, we find great peace. Dad knew where he was going, and he knew he would be with her when he arrived. We’re confident today that he is there and that they have been reunited. In our grief, this brings us the greatest joy!

she was the love of

his life ~ Miriam Jones Haynes ~

as he was of hers

Here, he explains how he rejoins her now.

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First The Landscape Changed

first the landscape changed ~

two months ago they clear cut this land

harvested the pine trees

I cried for the trees,

for the birds

I’d loved to watch from the front porch

for their nests

for their eggs

for their fledglings

a few remained in the hardwoods,

the usual cast of characters~

cardinals, wrens, finches, pine warblers

my favorite wood thrushes

but then Dad died

and the world changed

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Grief Numbness Haiku

Things are starting to hit home, ahead of the funeral on Saturday. Today was a partial reset, in between the day of Dad’s death and the day of the funeral. I feel like I’m just going through the motions on auto-pilot, and I remember this feeling after my mother died. There have been moments I’ve wanted to call and check on him. Then I realize – – I can’t do that anymore.

Today, my brother took Kona, Dad’s dog, to the funeral home to “explain things.” Kona checked him and sat down on his chest with the saddest look of understanding. We wanted her to know that he did not abandon her – – that he died loving her. She has a lovely new family now that will continue to take her to the dog park where she knows the dogs and people there – even though she will always look for the one who will not be returning. We gave her the unlaundered blanket, a gift from Hospice workers, that covered him on his ride from Hospice to the funeral home, and we pray it holds his scent for the rest of her days.

It’s all hitting so hard right now. I wasn’t expecting the numbness quite in this way. There will be some connecting with others who have lost fathers in the coming days. For today, I simply put one foot in front of the other and take breaths, pour coffee, and fold laundry. This is what I can do, and it brings a sense of accomplishment.

grief numbness sets in

after losing my father

is this happening???

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Friday the 13th For Real

This is a time of reorienting after the loss of my father on Friday, June 13. He was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis four years ago, and with both prostate and colon cancers in the past year. He began to suffer from SVTs, a heart arrhythmia that mimics a heart attack, because of the cardiopulmonary functions working in tandem with lack of oxygen from the lungs to the heart. In other words, the lungs weakened too much to support the heart, and with the chemo cocktail on his frailty, he didn’t have anything to fight with as he reflected on his choice.

These past three weeks have been a blur, since things took a steep nose dive the Tuesday after Memorial Day. He was transported by ambulance to the hospital, on to a rehab center, back to the hospital, back to the rehab center, and back to the hospital and then a hospice facility. He never returned home, his beloved dog Kona left there to wonder what happened to him. Within hours of his first ambulance ride, one of his many dog park friends came to get Kona and will keep her as her own, assuring both Dad and us that as long as she has Kona, she will have a part of Dad; we’ve arranged for Kona to see his body at the funeral home so that she understands he did not abandon her by choice. The blanket provided by hospice covering Dad during his ride to the funeral home was not laundered at my brother’s and my request – – this will be a gift for Kona. We hope it holds Dad’s scent for her forever.

These weeks have been filled with frustration, sorrow, laughter, denial, peace, acceptance, silence, noise, unforgettable moments, and hundreds of friends and family reaching out from across the miles to get the daily update and express their condolences. His grandchildren and great grandchildren who had traveled from as far away as Nevada to say goodbye arrived in intervals on Friday, just a few hours too late – – but we know Dad left on his own terms, and we believe he did so to keep their memories of him as they knew him in healthier days. Sunday was our first Father’s Day without our patriarch.

And now, our father – pastor, friend, brother, and legend – has reunited with our mother in heaven. We celebrate them and know they are at peace, and we lay him to rest on Saturday in Christ Church Cemetery on St. Simons Island right next to her, where she has been waiting since December 2015. So many stories have been lived and shared over these past few weeks, and there will be so many more as we navigate the days ahead – – stories and events that Dad continually referred to as the serendipitous steering currents of the spirit. His service will be live streamed on St. Simons Island First Baptist Church Youtube channel at 1:00 Saturday, June 21 for any of his friends who are reading and would like to attend virtually.

serendipitous

steering currents, Dad reminds,

are of the spirit

We anticipate and welcome these moments, and we’re on the lookout for every sign and every miracle that we know will be divinely channeled our way from Heaven.

Goodbye, Dad. Until we meet again.

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Day 2 of July Open Write with Jennifer Jowett of Michigan

Today’s host for the second day of the July Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com is Jennifer Jowett of Michigan, who inspires us to write poems of loss. You can read Jennifer’s entire prompt here.

Photo by SHVETS production on Pexels.com

Get Lost

I keep showing them to the exit
but they refuse to leave, to make
themselves scarce once and for all
they’re like Velcro leeches
sacked-out partiers
who won’t get lost
they stick with
me, these
pounds