The healing journey of a widowed, unschooling badass in Delaware.
We are alive in a tortoise shell
In the shadow of a dragon city.
Safe and hidden in this ancient amphibian.
Lumbering through foggy moors
Away from the flaming conflicts of the citadel.
The battle doesn’t know we exist
Warm and dark in our living cave.
Peaceful and protected
Plodding farther into calm.
Disclosure: The link below is an affiliate link, meaning, at no additional cost to you, I will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase.
Disclosure: The links below are affiliate links, meaning, at no additional cost to you, I will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase.
The sun slowly settles.
The kettle whistles.
Hot water over dried black leaves.
We share smiles through fragrant steam
held close to our faces.
Impatiently we wait.
The water tans.
We sip and breathe in.
Oolong on our tongues and in our noses.
The sun sits a little deeper.
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Widowers shouldn’t get sick.
At least this one shouldn’t.
Three days in bed.
Another wave
Pain in stillness.
Relief in movement.
Through the memories.
Through the fear.
I emerge covered in tears.
I’m struggling the last day or so and grateful to receive this get well message from a wonderful woman in my life.
I try to find inspiration in her compassion.
“Ache Rush Away”
Peace draws near.
I trust in healing as another aching night closes in.
There is relief in breath and quiet.
I am ready to heal and say goodnight to this restless pain.
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Exhaustion rolls in without warning.
Muscles contract and head inflames.
It is time for rest.
It is time for rest.
It’s rebirth season in the soil.
Fingers work between roots.
Wild purple weeds must make way for early strawberries.
Worms, beetles, and spiders labor alongside me.
We dig and clear.
Bees and wasps hang dowsy in the air.
We are all in the dirt, born of the dirt, growing in God’s dirt.
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A coin in your tea drawer.
Your favorite cup.
A lonely, tired morning.
“I wish you were here.”
You walk into the kitchen,
slow to wake eyes and thick, messy hair,
like every morning.
We hug, like every morning.
It should feel good.
But, it isn’t true. It isn’t right.
This isn’t every morning.
I fracture.
“I love you. You don’t belong here. You belong in Heaven.”
My heart wrenches.
Wordlessly, a gentle kiss, you walk away.
This is real.
I’m on my hands and knees, forehead to the ground.
Tears and sobbing prayers
begging for mercy from this pain.
This pain is mine.
A special gift I don’t understand.
It makes me whole again.
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We are lost without myth.
We have severed spirit from material.
We are fallen.