Our First Not-an-Anniversary

The TL; DR, in case you don't want to read the whole thing: I'm done.

Doug and I should be celebrating our first full year of marriage right now; we should be marveling at how we keep falling more deeply in love with every passing day (because we did); we should be dreaming about that safari in Kenya that was going to be our next big trip.

But we aren't celebrating, and we never will. There's no anniversary card signed "All my love, always, Doug." There's no waking up in each other's arms. There's no watching the UT game together, kissing every time the Vols score a touchdown. There's no anything, and there never will be again.

The first evening I spent with Doug came to be known as our first not-a-date. Three years and one day later, when he proposed, he didn't initially say, "will you marry me?" but instead "will you spend the rest of your life with me?", which led to us joking about his not-a-proposal. I suppose, in hindsight, I should have expected this not-an-anniversary, but stupid me: I thought we'd finally found our happily ever after.

For 238 days now, I've been desperately seeking something - ANYTHING - that would give me a reason to feel as though life is worth living without him. For 238 days, I've found nothing.

I'm now absolutely certain that I never will.

This exercise - coming to a cabin in the mountains for two weeks to see if being in nature would do what it's always done in the past (clear my head, make me feel connected to Mother Earth, give me fresh resolve) - this was my last hope, really. And it's failed. It's failed spectacularly. I can see, intellectually, that it's beautiful here. But I'm unmoved. I can feel the sun on my skin, and yet I can't get warm. As I fall asleep each night (which is really more collapsing from exhaustion, as I never get that sigh of contentment that lying down to sleep at night used to provide), I can feel the soft sheets and blanket, but I don't feel comfortable.

All I feel - all I EVER feel - is bereft, or terrified, or angry.

Ironically, Doug fell in love with me partly because I didn't need saving: I was a whole person, with a whole life, and I didn't need anything from him but his company. And now? Oh, I need saving. I couldn't more need to be saved if I were tossed into the middle of the ocean without a life raft. But the only thing that can possibly save me is the love that I lost at 6:10 PM on February 20 as I held Doug's hand and stroked his leg, BEGGING him to come back to me while a team of people tried valiantly to help him do just that. And the only person who can save me is the man who died and took that love with him.

I've tried eating right. I've tried exercise. I've tried journaling, meditation, yoga, music, art, virtual socializing, grief counseling, therapy, and grief group. Nothing works. Nothing eases the despair. Nothing makes a dent. NOTHING moves the needle, not even the tiniest bit. 

I won't kill myself - even though, really, all I want is to be done with this fucking ridiculous excuse for a life. I won't, because there's no guaranteed foolproof way to do it. But make no mistake about it: my life is over. I can't try anymore, because there's nothing TO try. I've tried it all, and it hasn't worked.

I won't kill myself, but there's no rule that says I have to actively participate in a life that has nothing to offer me. So I'm opting out. 

I'll work, and I'll take care of these poor animals who are saddled with a permanently broken human. Eventually, they'll age and die, and I'll be free of that obligation. And eventually, I'll lose my job, too - because let's stop pretending I'm even remotely competent anymore, at work, or at anything else. And then I'll lose my house and be on the streets. And maybe then, my heart will finally catch on and stop beating. If I'm lucky, maybe it'll happen sooner. If I'm REALLY lucky, maybe it'll happen tonight.

There's no point in continuing to beat this dead horse and try to find something worth having in this shithole existence. There's no point in socializing. There's no point in continuing therapy or grief counseling. There's no point in any of it. I'm just waiting to die, so why go to the trouble of pretending otherwise? To make everyone else feel better? I don't think so.

And if you're thinking that I have too much to offer the world, and it's not fair of me to just sit and wait to die when people need me, fuck that and fuck you. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO FINALLY BE OUR TIME TO BE HAPPY AND IT'S GONE. You have no fucking CLUE. Do you still get to celebrate anniversaries with your spouse? Did you get to celebrate even a SINGLE anniversary with your beloved? Yes? Then you don't know, so SHUT THE FUCK UP. Do you live every goddamn fucking minute in total misery? Are you terrified of things you used to enjoy? No? Then SHUT THE FUCK UP. Are you still able to enjoy reading a fucking book? Eating a delicious meal? Watching the sunrise? Are you able to enjoy ANYTHING? Yes? Then SHUT THE FUCK UP. Are YOU going to hold me while I sleep every night, and enjoy hundreds of little inside jokes, and live life with me? No, you're not. SO SHUT. THE FUCK. UP. 

And PLEASE, spare me the suggestion of antidepressants. I'm not clinically depressed because my brain is fucked up, I'm depressed because IT'S THE RATIONAL RESPONSE TO MY FUCKING NOT-A-LIFE. Are antidepressants going to make me enjoy the work I used to love? Or make me competent to do that work? No. Are they going to make me able to read a fucking book again without having to take notes to remember what I read THREE FUCKING PARAGRAPHS AGO? No. Are antidepressants going to hold me when I sleep? Make love to me? Joke with me? No, no, and no. What's wrong with me cannot be healed with a goddamn pill. It can't be healed at all. 

I don't care that it's selfish. I don't care if you hate me for it. I. DON'T CARE. I CAN'T care, because I'm dead inside, and there's nothing that's going to bring me back.

I DIED WITH DOUG. Period. The fact that my heart still beats is irrelevant.

To those of you who love me, who tried to help, who tried to be here for me, I'm sorry. I'm just not strong enough to do this; I knew it on February 20, and I know it now. The universe has given me its message: NO LOVE FOR YOU; NO HAPPINESS FOR YOU. All I'm doing is acknowledging that the message has been received; all I'm doing is giving in, because there's no use in fighting it anymore. 

I have nothing now but the wish that my husband will come for me and take me to wherever he is. And that's all I'm ever going to have. 

So I'll go back to Tennessee a week from tomorrow, and I'll get my affairs in order, and just keep willing myself to die until it finally happens. And I'm going to do it alone. Y'all can move on along, because there's nothing more to see here. My phone is on Do Not Disturb, and that's where it's going to stay. There's nothing anyone can say or do that's going to change my mind, and there's no one I want to talk to. I'm done.

OctPoWriMo, Day 16

Five years ago today, I met up for cocktails with a fella I'd met several months before. We started telling each other our life stories, and ended up closing the place and going to his house and continuing to tell those stories until the wee, small hours of the morning. 

Two years ago today, we were at that same fella's family beach house, watching as our cats luxuriated in the ocean breeze and afternoon sun on the screened porch. Unbeknownst to me, he was anxious, planning to propose the next day.

One year ago today, we spent the day lounging at the incredibly beautiful pool at our resort in Kauai, utterly relaxed and excited about our wedding the next day.

And today... well, let's just say that today's poetry prompt couldn't be more appropriate.

Today's Prompts: When we were kids we were told to color the objects the colors they are supposed to be; sky is blue, grass is green and so on. This prompt is about turning things inside out and upside down. Painting the sky purple, the grass pink and everything else any darn color you want. Allow yourself to get creative, paint a scene with your words, turn the world inside out. Write for ten minutes describing what your world looks like if it were inside out and upside down. 

Word Prompts: Indigo, Tangerine, Vermilion, Midnight, Dusk 

Poetry Type: The Pictorial, Mirrored Refrain (I went with Mirrored Refrain)

Art Imitating Life

Imagine a world, they said, where everything's wrong
Where up is down and inside, out
She need not imagine a world so skewed,
Her former loving heart now beats only doubt

The sunrise that used to herald a bright new day
Now indigo, midnight - no brightening her mood
Her former loving heart now beats only doubt
She need not imagine a world so skewed

She misses memories that will never be made
Such is the madness of grief's fallout
She need not imagine a world so skewed
Her former loving heart now beats only doubt

She technically lives, although dead inside
A zombie, hungry not for brains but for her dead love - she's unglued
Her former loving heart now beats only doubt
She need not imagine a world so skewed

She strives - so very hard - to give it a chance
For life, from her desiccated heart, once more to sprout
She need not imagine a world so skewed;
Her former loving heart now beats only doubt

But life's lessons are harsh, and she learned them well
Love was never meant to be hers, she'll conclude
Her former loving heart now beats only doubt
She need not imagine a world so skewed

Life may be a gift, but not for us all
For some, it's one long, torturous rout
She need not imagine a world so skewed;
Her former loving heart now beats only doubt

Forever, they promised, to have and to hold
Then Fate snatched their forever and the love that they'd brewed
Her former loving heart now beats only doubt
She need not imagine a world so skewed

Imagine, they said, and she stifled a laugh
A world where reality's twisted about
She need not imagine a world so skewed
Her former loving heart now beats only doubt

OctPoWriMo, Day 15

Two days from now is the day that Doug and I should be celebrating our first wedding anniversary. Instead, I'll spend it the way I've spent most days since February 20, and every single day since March 12: completely alone, wishing I could just be wherever he is, even if that's nowhere.

This trip has been a waste of time, and money, and hope. But that's for a lengthy blog post when I return to Tennessee. For now, let's talk poetry: I read through today's prompts, and... I just can't. Not today. Too much work. It's all I can do to stop crying long enough to write at all. So a short-and-not-at-all-sweet haiku it is.

No Compassionate Release

Her last hope has failed

Grief's prison won't let her go

Life sentence of pain

OctPoWriMo, Day 14

Bad day. Very, very, VERY bad day. 

Today's prompt: Take some time to think about your truth. Where do your thoughts lead? Are there particular images or memories this truth conjures? Was it something you felt the need to defend or was it that something that fortified you in times of need? Your truth is a part of your being. Introduce us to him/her.

Word Prompts: absolute, bravado, reckoning, freedom, peace, flexible, fortitude, independent, reason

Poetry Type: Villanelle, Cascade (I went with Villanelle)

All's Not Fair After All

The war is over: she knows full well
Her shattered heart lay crushed beneath Death's feet
Within her, only misery shall evermore dwell

The years to come are akin to a prison cell
She's tried, but cannot deny she must admit defeat
The war is over: she knows full well

She's written, traveled, made music, raged to Hell
She remains unmoved; no beauty, no song, no sunrise makes her heart skip a beat
Within her, only misery shall evermore dwell

The love they shared! Oh, how they fell!
All the love in her heart, now obsolete
The war is over: she knows full well

She's powerless as the rage and sorrow inside her swell
As her future makes a hasty and permanent retreat
Within her, only misery shall evermore dwell

In war, in love, in life - none escapes the tolling of the bell
Their love story never to be complete
The war is over: she knows full well
Within her, only misery shall evermore dwell

OctPoWriMo, Day 13

It's a lovely day today here in the Blue Ridge Mountains, so outdoor time is in order this afternoon. I can't believe it's already Day 13; I've gone from finding this exercise in writing poetry really difficult the first few days to rather enjoying it now. I still think my poetry's crap, though. 🤷‍♀️ That's okay; not all art has to be good art, amirite?

Today's prompts: What kind of box holds you? Is it one of your own making, or did others trap you there? What will it take to break free? If you've already broken free, what helped you do so? The boxes that hold us can be many things: work, gender, clothing, sexuality, family, religion, etc. Boxes can be so comfortable that coming out is terrifying and even painful sometimes. But the freedom is usually worth it.

Word Prompts: Chains, Freedom, Breakthrough, Open mind, Flight 

Suggested Poetry Type: Pantoum, Oddquain (I went with an oddquain butterfly, and while I didn't plan to write about butterflies (I mean, really - a smidge on-the-nose, doncha think?), I went with it anyway.

Crypt or Chrysalis?

Trapped,

Cannot move,

Quicksand holds me tight,

Mired in the mud and heartbreak,

Scared;

Does escape mean forgetting?

Does the butterfly

Remember

Spring?

OctPoWriMo, Day 12

When I was a little girl, a friend and I used to seek out places in the woods where we could just be; the woods were always where I felt at peace, connected to the world, and safely myself. As an adult, when life became overwhelming, or when I needed to clear my head, a hike in the woods would always set my head back on straight.

So, when faced with the single greatest personal tragedy of my life, it made sense to go to the place that always soothed my soul before. Today's poetry prompt took me back to those early days, discovering the healing power of nature, but that's where my adherence to the prompt ended; it took a direction that was unintended, but it's my truth, and I stand by it.

One year ago today, Doug and I were sitting in first class on a Hawaiian Air flight to Kauai, drinking Mai Tais and eating the most incredibly delicious breakfast, at the beginning of what we thought was going to be our long, travel-filled life together. Our love story began at a dive bar overlooking a lake; our marriage began on the most beautiful spot on the most beautiful island in the United States; in the four years between, we visited mountain cabins where we could watch the sunsets together, beaches where we saw dolphins frolic in the surf, and the quiet beach house where Doug asked me to be his wife. Nature is where we pledged to love each other forever; to nature is where I will go to mark the first anniversary that will never be.

Poetry Prompts: Write for ten minutes about how you liked to play when you were little. Did you enjoy coloring,  hopscotch, swinging on the swing set? See if you can tap into those playful feelings and pick one to do for a few minutes to remember what it was like to be a child at play.

Word Prompts: Playful, Childlike, Silly Poetry Type: Zanila Rhyme, Tongue Twister (because the prompts are merely suggestive rather than iron-clad rules, I wrote a sonnet instead)

Nature Retreat

The woods were always where she found her peace;
The flow'rs in bloom, the music of the birds.
Their beauty seem'd eternal, without cease;
Too wondrous to describe with solely words.

When tragedy befell, she thought, escape!
Retreat to where her Mother Earth would calm
Her fears, and begin to new life reshape;
Attune with nature; feel Her soothing balm.

Alas! That pure connection is no more.
She sees the beauty, but she feels it not.
Her sorrow not diminished like before,
No peace for her; serenity not caught. 

Defeated, she gives in to threat'ning tears,
Resigned to live in sorrow all her years.

OctPoWriMo, Day 11

Today has been something of a lost day (not a grief-related Lost Day, but just a garden variety lost day in which little went according to plan (you know, like normal people have - "normal" being those uninitiated into the rituals and patterns of deep grief). On the bright side, none of the 'not according to plan' was under my control in the slightest, so I went with it. Tomorrow's another day, right? Ugh. Moving on...

Poetry Prompts: Write a letter to your Muse asking the best way to hear them, work with them, and how to work in the creative stream. Continue writing until the answers flow onto the page.

Word Prompts: Muse, Inspiration, In the flow, Creativity 

Poetry Type: Rispetto, Didactic 

I went with Rispetto, for precisely one reason: my senior year in High School, I played Veta Louise Simmons in our production of Harvey. One of Veta's lines to her daughter is, "Don't be didactic, Myrtle Mae; it's not becoming in a young girl, and men loathe it." Yeah, yeah - I'm not a young girl, and truthfully, IDGAF what men loathe, and while I do love to teach people something new (just as I love learning new things), to this day I have an aversion to being perceived as didactic. (Such... fun little idiosyncrasies in my mind, hmmm? 🤷‍♀️)

The Fire Yet (or Not) to Be

When life's events make art seem a petty vise
The artist finds she's lost her creative fire
The Muses will extract a traveling price
To the woods! To build a restorative pyre!

Assimilate the mem'ries that rend her soul
Write a new story; craft herself a new role
Will nature, wild, create a spark of new life?
Or did she die when she stopped being his wife?

OctPoWriMo, Day 10

It's midafternoon; I slept in until 7:45 this morning - pure decadence. I've been creatively engaged all day: morning pages (thanks, The Artist's Way!), dancing, playing the autoharp, composing a song parody, journaling, and now here we are. Let's do this, shall we?

Poetry Prompts: Write for ten minutes, or more if necessary, about what you want/need to let go of, what still triggers upset when you think of it, what turns your stomach. If you have your own way of letting it go, do so when you are finished writing. If you don't, one way I like to let go is to burn the page (in a safe container or outside in a firepit - be safe) and visualize myself letting it go as the smoke drifts away. 

Word Prompts: Letting go, forgiveness, victory, smoke Poetry Type: Tyburn, CinqTroisDecaLa (I chose CinqTroisDecaLa Rhyme.

You

Memories of a hillside dotted with tropical flowers
Days and nights together when we'd sit, talk and laugh for hours
You were, from the start to the end, the most wonderful surprise
But you were stolen from me; reminder that everything dies
Can I let go? Go back to what I thought happy was before?
Or is it too late? Horse is out; why bother to close the door?
Must I continue to live this life I don't want anymore?
If I could have, for just a moment, all magical powers,
I would use them to bring you here, to hold you and feast my eyes
There's no bringing you back; no stitching the hole that your death tore

OctPoWriMo, Day 9

I have arrived at my cabin in the mountains. My first travel since Doug died; my first travel alone in... man, that would've been before my first marriage, so... early 90s? It's getting me all in my thoughts and feels, so today's prompt is perfectly timed.

Today's prompt: Shifting from your head to your heart. Write for five minutes focusing on your head, your thoughts. Then write for five minutes focusing on your heart, your feelings. Did you notice a difference?  What does that look and feel like to shift from your head to your heart? Shift again and be silly with it, humor always lightens things up. Remember to keep your heart in your creativity and everything you do.

Word Prompts: Thoughts, feelings, heartfelt, practical, whimsical Poetry Type: Loop Poetry, Palindrome (I went with Loop Poetry)

Solitude... Fun... Happiness... Fear

Sometimes, solitude is nice
Nice girls don't have much fun
Fun is not happiness
Happiness is a warm gun*

Mountain air, crisp and cool and clean
Clean my dark and heavy soul
Soul mates are made, not born
Born to love and lose takes a toll

Sometimes, solitude breeds fear
Fear of you forgetting we're apart
Apart from everything, nights are long; days are empty
Empty hands, empty bed, empty heart
 

* Apologies to the Beatles, but c'mon - I had to do it

Change of venue, change of heart?

In a few hours, I'll be heading to the Blue Ridge Mountains, where I'll spend the next two weeks in a cabin with my dog, Kellogg. My son will be house sitting, so the cats won't think they've been abandoned (although, let's be honest: the cats probably won't care that I'm not here - so long as they're fed and their litterboxes get cleaned out).

I'd originally planned to stay off of all social media (and away from the news), other than checking notifications on Facebook so I could reply to comments and the like, and posting here. Then, at some point, that changed, and I got to thinking that maybe I should just stay off social media altogether. So much of living with grief is experimental: we really don't know from one day to the next - or in some cases, from one minute to the next - what will be helpful vs what will be harmful. 

To get back to the point, I was very comfortable with a total social media and news blackout... until two (three?) days ago, when the batshit crazy that is 2020 went into overdrive. Since then, POTUS has become the sentient equivalent of a smallpox blanket, a bunch of guys were caught planning to kidnap the Governor of Michigan in an attempt to start a civil war, there's yet another hurricane about to hit the Gulf Coast, and... I'm sure I'm missing something, because it seems there's another breaking news story every time I turn on the television. Things are really ramping up ahead of the election, and the crazy is a-flowing.

Suddenly, I'm not so comfortable with that total blackout anymore, because I honestly have no idea what the hell I'm going to come back to in two weeks. I mean, even this wouldn't surprise me at this point:

That said, a total blackout feels right, no matter what I'll learn when I finally turn on NPR when I'm headed home. I need this trip to be a complete break from my "real" life; I need it to break my routines - they've kept me alive(ish) this long, but they aren't serving me well anymore. I need it to dedicate my energy to figuring out where I go from here. I need it to start to figure out who this new Kathleen is, if indeed there's anything there beyond sadness, loneliness, and anger.

So, I'm going dark: no Facebook, no Twitter, no watching or reading the news. I might let myself visit Reddit now and then, but that's only because I can skip the main page and head into the subreddits where I know there won't be any discussion of the news. I won't be writing any blog posts, either, other than my daily OctPoWriMo entries. I'll be writing, but by hand, in a journal.

And so, this is a temporary goodbye. Be safe, be happy, take care of yourselves and each other, and I'll catch up with you on the 25th when I'm settled back home. If you have any good vibes to spare, I'd appreciate you sending a few my way; I'm sure I'm gonna need them.

OctPoWriMo Day 8

OK, I've got lots to do before I hit the road in the morning, so now witty preamble tonight. Let's do this, shall we?

Today I invite you to explore one or more of your boundaries. It can be in form. It can be in content. It can be by crossing disciplines, like in this amazing poem inspired by choral music and a Swedish troll proverb. It can be in the delivery, by recording your poem. Or it can be by gifting your poem to someone, and sharing with them why they are the recipient of your piece.

Word prompts: unusual, improvise, connect

Poetry type: Diamante or Table poem (I went with Diamante)

Trust
Beautiful, comfortable
Nourishing, inspiring, terrifying
Wildflowers, blanket... walls, tears
Suffocating, building, crying
Hideous, jittery
Doubt

Until tomorrow!

OctPoWriMo, Day 7

I swear, people, I do NOT go into every day's poetry prompt looking for reasons to write about death and misery. But c'mon! Every day's topic seems to be a perfect fit for my mood! (Off topic: all those years I used to joke, saying "I like my chocolate dark and bitter, like my personality," I was being hyperbolic. And now, it's true - I AM dark and bitter. Sigh...) 

Moving on, today's prompt: 

"He who learns must suffer." -Aeschylus

Do you remember when you were a child and a growth spurt left you with aches and pains in your arms and legs? Sometimes we must endure pain in order to grow. What are you going through right now? What can you learn from it? What have you endured in the past that taught you something about yourself?

Word Prompts: Pain, Growth, Learning, Finding yourself 

Suggested Poetry Type: Triolet, Villonet (I went with Triolet)

The End or a New Beginning?

The caterpillar plans to die;
She doubts that new life can take hold.
Few people understand like I.
The caterpillar plans to die,
And after, oh! how she will fly - 
If only she can grow so bold.
The caterpillar plans to die;
She doubts that new life can take hold

OctPoWriMo, Day 6

I crashed obscenely early last night, and woke up at 1:30 AM. I've been awake ever since, because... sleep and I haven't been on the best of terms these past 227 days. I'm a morning person by nature, and so this very long day has left my eyes burning and my head aching. And I'm still working on a Bingo Card/drinking game for tomorrow's VP debate. No rest for the wicked, amirite? Sigh...

The moral of the story is: I should write my OctPoWriMo submission each day as soon as I get up instead of waiting until the day winds down. Will I do that? Probably not. But it's a really good idea! Anyway...

Today's prompt: Following desire - what is your desire and how can you follow your desire? Write about what you desire and possible steps to get you there. 

Word Prompts: Desire, Steps, Drive 

Poetry Type: Converse or Monotetra. I decided to try my hand at Monotetra.

Fly Away

Desire: elusive butterfly
Cannot be caged, although we try
Freedom is found in wind and sky
And then we die; and then we die

A bit of hope; the smallest thread
Might calm the existential dread
Of nights alone, stories unsaid
An empty bed; an empty bed

"Take steps," they say, "to heal your soul"
There is no "healing" grand guignol
When fear and anger take control
I'll play my role; I'll play my role

The widow is the witch made real,
A bitter crone, about to steal
The smug comfort you, daily, feel
Death's bell will peal; Death's bell will peal

Drive off! A trip! Be nature-bound!
Perhaps there your hope will be found
Or maybe you'll come right back 'round
Don't make a sound; don't make a sound

Hope is much like that butterfly
How can I snatch it from the sky?
I can't; it must land by and by
before I die; before I die

OctPoWriMo Day 5

OK, this has been a truly horrible day with not a SINGLE redeeming moment. I do NOT want to do this, but I'm trying to honor my commitments, so I'm gonna phone one in. Sorry.

Today's prompt: Write about creating from the heart. WWhat does it mean to create from the heart? Reach in and dig deep. Where is the center of your creativity?

Word Prompts: Healing, Creating, Heart

Poetry Type prompts: Shape Poetry or Licentia Rhyme Form (I went with Shape Poetry)

Teardrops

I
do
not
think
there's
healing
that'll fix
my heart or
return the spirit
that lived inside me.
Creating needs openness, 
seeing what isn't already there,
letting go and feeling and being.
Creating needs an open mind & heart.
My heart stays locked up tight. Feelings
swirl out of control. Chaos consumes all
things around me. Chaos renders my
life terrifying and empty and ever-
oppressive. Monsters lurk at
every corner waiting for
my tears so they
can feed.

OctPoWriMo Day 4

Today's prompt is going for a stream-of-consciousness kinda thing. I dig it. I have no idea what this is going to be, but I dig the idea: Write for ten minutes allowing your words to go where they want to go, let them fall onto the page. If you weren't afraid, what would you write? Follow the words. Breathe, step forward, and fall.

Word prompts for today: falling, breathe, fearless

Poetry style: Blitz Poem

Breathe in Joy

I can't move
I can't breathe
Breathe in peace
Breathe out fear
Fear hardens
Fear transforms and fearless I am
Am I kidding myself
Am I not afraid of everything
Everything I need is gone
Everything is dark and gray
Gray skies gray days
Gray hair gray heart
Heart broken
Heart destroyed
Destroyed my identity
Destroyed my future
Future no longer beckons
Future looms ominous thunderclouds
Thunderclouds the inner voice that wants to try
Thunderclouds hide reality
Reality is overrated
Reality is Hell
Hell is real
Hell is this life
Life without someone who I love most who loves me most
Life like that is not a life
Life like that is shallow
Life like that is lonely
Lonely is always getting your way
Lonely is no fight for the blanket
Blanket to cover your cold feet
Blanket to cover your cold hands
Hands that stroked my face
Hands that held mine so gently
Gently and fiercely
Gently but strongly we loved
Loved making you laugh
Loved hearing you speak
Speak to me and tell me you're okay
Speak to me and tell me what to do
Do you even still exist
Do you even care that you left me behind
Behind me a life that's gone forever
Behind me the only life I wanted
Wanted to spend my life with you
Wanted to be your greatest joy
Joy can no longer exist
Joy is less resolute than I
I...
Exist...

Ok, y'all: I LOVE this form! It's rather like playing a game of word association with oneself. If you write it as quickly as its name suggests, there's no time for self-censorship or overthinking. And the constraints of the form force you to be creative. I can see myself using this now and then as a journaling technique.

Broken pieces can create wonders

We'll get to the significance of the post title in a few minutes. First, I promised an update on planning for my trip to the mountains.

I'm really glad I had the sense to plan to get out of town for what would have been our first anniversary (yes, I'll have a house sitter, so the place won't be abandoned), and I'm REALLY glad that I still have so much to do to get ready for the trip: in this the run up to our anniversary, the memories are coming so fast and hitting so hard that it's sometimes paralyzing. And every day gets a little harder, so being anywhere-but-here is definitely the smart move.

Yesterday was very productive. I finished my grocery list, ordered my groceries for pickup when I get into the town where I'll be staying, ordered cat food to get Marmalade and Houdini through the two weeks I'll be away - and a car harness for Kellogg so he'll be clipped in to the seatbelt while we're on the road, ordered booze for the trip (beer, a bottle of Woodford Reserve, and Baileys to put in my coffee on our anniversary). I also ordered cigars, because what could be more relaxing than sitting out on the deck with a nice bourbon and cigar? Finally, I put together a list of questions about the cabin and sent that out (and already got a response with answers to all my questions, so yay for responsive customer service). I made some more progress on my shopping list, set up a staging area in my bedroom for everything I need to bring with me (I'm still not sleeping in there, so might as well use it for something, amirite?), and started packing.

Oh, and I watched the Vols trounce Missouri, so that was nice. 

Today, I'll have to do all the housework I didn't do in the evenings after work last week. One of the really frustrating effects of grief is the all-encompassing exhaustion. It used to be that, if I had a particularly challenging day at work, I could pivot from the heavy cognitive work and do something else. Now? If I have a day at work that uses up all my intellectual reserves, it doesn't just deplete my capacity for heavy thinking; it wears me out completely. Last week was very heavy in cognitive work - with a few pieces of troubling news sprinkled in for good measure - and so the evenings were pretty much lost time.

Now, let's talk about that post title: As y'all are aware, for reasons I do not know (and am beginning to regret), I decided to participate in OctPoWriMo. But I'm not just writing and submitting my own stuff; I'm reading other people's submissions as well. I do not think of myself as a poet by any stretch of the imagination; some of the other participants, however, are the Real Deal. 

Case in point: Payal Agarwal, who writes at https://colorsofthefall.blogspot.com/. I discovered her when I read her first submission on October 1, and I've since bookmarked her site so I can go back and read her older stuff. She's a beautiful writer, and her OctPoWriMo submission for yesterday was breathtaking. Please go read it.

That last line has stuck with me: Broken pieces can create wonders. I burst into tears as soon as I read it. And every time it comes to my mind, I start crying again. I cry partly because the imagery is so beautiful, and partly because I know it's true - especially because she literally used a piece of broken charcoal in the visual art piece she created as part of the exercise. But mostly I cry because... I am full of broken pieces; I myself am broken.

Can a broken person create wonders? Intellectually, I know it's possible; hell, the tortured artist is an archetype. But can this broken person create wonders? And does it even matter if I can? So what if all this suffering is going to lead me to some creative tsunami that will somehow move someone else? Is that a fair trade? Maybe for the people who are moved by the stuff I create, but I don't know that it'll do much for me. Yes, I realize that's selfish. No, I'm not going to feel bad about that: I'm not so consumed by my "art" (in quotes because not an artist) that I'm willing to live a life of misery for the sake of it; I'm no Hemingway, y'know?

The thing is, though, I think I'm too broken to create wonders anyway; my efforts to create are borne out of desperation; I paint (very badly), draw (very, very badly), play music, and write out of a frenzied need to get out the thoughts and feelings that rage inside me like a tornadic pyrocumulonimbus. Anything I've created since Doug died is the emotional equivalent of projectile vomiting.

I've experienced plenty of bad times in my 55 years. But never before have I felt broken beyond repair; never before have I felt as though the future holds no hope; never before have I been consistently sad and angry and lost for so very long and with no end in sight.

Broken pieces can create wonders. I wish I could believe that.

OctPoWriMo, Day 3

Probably two posts today - first, my OctPoWriMo submission for the day. Later (or tomorrow, if I get lazy) an update on planning for Kathleen's Extreme Self-Care Adventure.

Today's prompt asked for us to do some painting, and then write. But I've got football to watch, laundry to wash, dry, and fold, and packing to begin (I hate packing at the last minute), so I'm skipping that and using the word prompts on their own. Word prompts for today: beauty, chaos, and feelings. Poetry type: Free Verse of Invent Your Own. I have no idea which I've got here. 🤷‍♀️

the too-short story

a DOUBLE RAINBOW
    greeted us the morning we promised forever
     (so did the wild roosters)

a MOONBOW
        wished us goodnight

shave ice
    huli-huli chicken
        rainforests and fields of wildflowers
            mountains
                waterfalls

laughter
    the road to Hana
        the best food trucks ever
           pools
               beaches
                   ending each evening on our lanai in paradise

palm trees
    leaves dancing in the tropical breeze
        mangos
            the smells of coconut
                and flowers
                    and fresh rain

two weeks of bliss
    no distractions

BUT

the secret
    only we knew:
        bliss was everywhere when we were together
            no need
                for rainbows
                    or beaches
                        or roosters
        we made our own bliss every day

beauty
    is a flower
        or full moon
            or your love's face, voice, laugh

feeling
    warm
        loved
            eager to live the years together
            partners, lovers, friends

chaos
    the world in crisis
        you gone 
            life forever changed
            (destroyed, obliterated, over)

fear
    of everything
        the loneliness 
            the sadness 
                the future 
                (I don't even want)
        fear
            of everything but being where you are

feeling
    empty
        outraged
            lost

the world's chaos
    matches my own

beauty
    it seems
        lives only in my memories

forever
    should be more
        than 126 days

    

OctPoWriMo Day 2

Today's writing prompt: Write about how and when you feel vulnerable. Style prompts: either Haiku or Lannet. 

Since y'all know how I struggle with Haiku, it's kind of a foregone conclusion that I'm gonna go with that.

Walls Up

Any rose, once bloomed
remains open for its life
Lucky; I'm no flow'r

A writing challenge? Why not?

Years ago, I participated (badly) in NaNoWriMo. I thought about doing so again this year - after all, it's not as though I have much filling my time besides work and wishing for death, right? But today, I discovered that there's also a writing challenge for October: OctPoWriMo. This intrigues me, particularly since poetry is not in my writing comfort zone. At all. And I always used to be a woman who loved stepping out of my comfort zone. I do not love it now, which is precisely why I'm doing it. (Yes, that really does make sense; to me, at least.)

Can I really write 31 pieces of poetry in 31 days? Hell if I know. If I can, will any of it be even remotely good? Probably not, but it's a creativity exercise - not a contest. May as well give it a shot.

There are prompts each day; I may or may not stick to them, but for today, I'll use it (though I'll no doubt stray from what the organizers were expecting)... 

Shine your light is the main prompt for today, in fact it is the theme for this OctPoWriMo. Some have taken this time during the Pandemic to explore their talents and share them with others. How can you shine your light? 

OctPoWriMo 2020 #1: Untitled

I wake
    goosebumps in the morning chill    
    watching the word slowly come to life with the sun's light

We loved
    the warmth of our bed in the cold mornings
    the smell of a pot of chili on the stove
    the sun low in the sky and streaming into the back of the house

We began
    in October
    in the dive bar where we met up for drinks
    and where we knew: this was something different

We married
    in October
    in a tropical paradise
    far from chilly mornings and sweaters and cider

We ended
    in February
    dreary, cold, brutal, endless February
    when you left me and I lost my light

The sun
    began its return in March
    then the whole world lost its light

We all
    lost our routines
    and our comforts
    and our normal

For everyone
    nearly everything changed
    fear and uncertainty still hang over our heads

As though
    Earth herself and all of humanity
    were mourning you with me

Some day
    this will be over
    most everyone will return to their normal lives
    their lights will return

For me
    there is no normal to go back to
    only the empty void of a life planned but now out of reach
    my light left forever when you did

Autumn
    will never be the same