The Journey Is The Story


Photo on 2016-05-31 at 10.30 AM #2

AATAMAA     the authentic self – something to remember when I practice my yoga.

Reading others comments and blogs I am reminded of how important our journey is.
A writer recently wrote of the importance of us commenting on our own lives when reading of others. I hope I remembered that correctly. It may be a that notion that published works are more important then those that are self published. Not so.
At least in my opinion.
I personally have found more connection to common folk like us who blog of our situation or lives out of desperation, sadness and need.  When B got ill I took books out from the library daily to try and found some common ground where I would feel less alone. I did not find any. Everything must have been edited out by professionals I don’t know. It was the blogs where I found common ground. Those poems, those desperate rants that come only in the middle of the night when the world for the most part is sleeping. But we are not are we? That Midnight Madness I call it.

Photo on 2016-05-31 at 8.45 AM

When arms come out of the ground and try and hold on to you
those headlights that keep coming in your direction but your glued to the black thick road
those times when everyone is speaking yet all you can hear is water rumblings
remember all those long days in the i.c.u
when holding his hand feels like the best thing ever because he is able to sleep
those days that turn into weeks and months and you feel at home
sleeping on a chair after eating a egg sandwich
that has been brought to you by the night nurse
for she understands the love
she understands that nothing will tear you from his side

These are the stories written from tears that have permanently disfigured our faces
how can one write about such things  if they have to be edited out
its the blog people that speak from their hearts
they have nothing to lose and everything to gain for they can for five minutes
put it all on the screen and hit publish
its here that we can somehow find a common ground

The Journey is Our Story

Photo on 2016-05-31 at 8.44 AM

With heavy feet we try everyday to create a new life
chalkboards with daily notes
reminders so we don’t drift
lists not of desperate importance
just important enough to focus
so at the end of the day we can
hopefully tick one or two items off the list

Post- loss feels like having to learn how to walk and speak and eat all over again
there are day when saying the word Breathe over and over makes perfect sense
your mind and body has to have time to heal all the wounds that can’t be seen.

The Right To Grieve

Yesterday another close friend has left us. Flown the coop. Left without a forwarding address. Asta lavista baby.

Do I seem in an odd mood? Well you are so bright and in tune. How much death can we handle? How many more loved ones will we be able to properly grieve without becoming hard and brittle like leather left outdoors to dry in the elements?
I say we but in reality I mean ME, I, Singular because there is only me that is writing about this on my blog. Am I over thinking or over feeling. Possibly but that does not seem to make it feel any better. Sometimes I feel like everyone around me is looking at me with the faint smile showing but so much more is going on behind it. Like good god! When will she get a life? When will she stop going on about the dead and death and sorrow of people dying around her. From this summer in august I have lost one, two, three good female friends to cancer and there is trying her best to hang on. I think that this is too much! Don’t you?

Maybe others are more comfortable accepting these deaths then I am. Da obviously.

I love my friends and I like to make them laugh and pay attention to them and help them. I want them to feel comfortable to speak of their fear of death if that is what they need. I will gladly discuss coffins and cremation and laugh at the craziness of it all because I feel we should be more involved with the celebration of death. We have all or we will all live a full life no matter what it is that we do. Perhaps because I am visual and verbal artist I look a bit deeper to see how things work or click. I remember I used to be afraid of the process of things dying so one summer I put dead birds [ that fell from flying into the windows, not by my hands] in different decomposing situations so I could familiarize myself with death.  In Prince Edward Island its customary to bring the body home and stay there for 24 hours as their last night and allow the family and friends to visit and start the grieving process. I think that is the way it should be. We have built up this great fear of something that will happen to ABSOLUTELY ALL OF US.  There is no way in the world that anyone will get away with NOT DYING.  So why do we shy away from it?

I have digressed. I am feeling a loss, a loss of a friend that had such a good heart and contributed so very much in society. If we are living our lives for a purpose then I have to confess again that I really don’t know what purpose I am fulfilling here. To date I feel more and more that I feel like I have been physically beaten. My body hurts, my jaw feels locked, my neck has lightning bolts that shoot through it, I can sleep for ten twelve hours without pills. All I want to do is sell my property so I can move to Newfoundland and be on my own. I really don’t know how much beating we can take in our life. What I don’t want is to become tough, to be hardened and get over someone near me dying  as quickly as changing my clothes. I love my friends and I will always grieve their passing. They deserve my grief for they made a real difference to my life.
They Are Dropping Like Flies

They are dropping from the sky
I do not question why
everyone must die

like pulling a ticket in a supermarket
or waiting in line
approaching the final checkout
the cart is full of our life’s accomplishments and regrets
waiting in line for our number to be called

items of time spent gets scanned
afternoons spent lying on the grass watching the clouds,,,,$6.49
smiles given freely to passing cars,,,,,,,,, .$5.25
getting lost on the internet,,,,,$99.20
spending time and our life with friends when they need us,,,,, Credit 100.00
time spent being angry,,,,$209.00
we can see those moments captured and displayed on the over head screen
sitting at the curb watching an ant carry a huge berry,,,,,$2.50
watching colours and squiggly lines under our eye lids,,,,$1.25
more blocks get scanned and we can see the pain
thoughts appear on the screen like a scrolling poem
these are moments that have made an impact on us


we all born with a clock embedded in the base of our necks?
some a slowly unwinding clock
that eventually looses its spring
others get hit with a hammer and are pulverized

I have seen the slow unwinding spring
It may be considered a soft exit for it gives all of us so much time
to speak, to listen, to remember, to laugh
are we the ones that judge the quality of the life we have lived?

there is no greater being with a long white robe pointing fingers
I take comfort in knowing that our spirit is what makes us
When I see the loved ones waiting for the number to be called
i am sad and feel great loss
for I will not have the pleasure of their company
I am not sad that they are leaving
for the trip they are on is a splendid one
I am sad for I have to stay behind
Still, I smile, raise my hand and say bon-voyage


Pierrette, Rosemary, and Rita
March 5 2016


Seven Hundred and Thirty Days and Nights

October 2 1014

Two years.

Seven hundren and thirty days and nights.

When I think of waking up seven hundren and thirty times I feel exhausted.

I wonder to myself, why do I even commemorate this day?

The day my husband died!

Would it not be better , emotionally anyway to commemorate the first time we made love, or the first time we looked at eachother and just knew that a life had just begun.

Why do we commemorate when someone very dear to us left?



On that moment.

That split second, we become consumed with sadness.

There is a void. Black emptiness where someone once filled the space, now no more.

Like a lung collapsing,whusshhhhhhhhh.

It takes us a while before we can take a deep breath again.

A while before we fully understand that we are now alone.

While friends and family are vastly important it’s often better not telling them of this lonliness.

They take it personally, or feel insulted that their presents does not compare.

Days do get better. Meds help a lot.  



Grieving may be embarrasing to others.

Grieving is an extension of the love I feel.

For me anyway.

Everyone is different.

Today I feel an intense pain in my chest. I know its because my mind has learned how to shut things out, but the pain just shows up somewhere else.

Two years.

Seven hundren and thirty days and nights.


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