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Tag: grief

  • Facts about Sobbing

    Sobbing is never, ever attractive. It makes people uncomfortable. Sobbing induces other people’s sobbing. It makes the one who started the sobbing feel a little guilty, but not really. Sobbing is best suppressed after two minutes. One can continue to sob inwardly, but it’s best to be polite about it and shut up. Sobbing causes…

  • Stones

    Consider it written in stone. The stone at the head of a non-descript grave at a non-descript cemetery on the outskirts of some field in the middle of nowhere. Here she lies. This is how it will go. Tomorrow, there will be tears. Tomorrow, there will be a long, sad drive home and an even…

  • Go Quietly

    Neither of us will go quietly. That was obvious from the first. Her moans and denials and fight are only restrained by the liquid morphine that courses through her veins. She will not go quietly.   On the way to see her. On the way to see her for the last time. I did not…

  • Dying a Death

    The last words I’ll ever hear her speak are, “I’ve still got fight left in me.” Or maybe, “I don’t have no fight left in me.” I distinctly heard “fight left in me.” I asked her how she was.  Dry: “I’m great.” Floated back into her morphine dreams or nightmares. Later, when I was alone…

  • Something Worse than Weak

    I’m glad I got to see you Such sincerity She meant it Her eyes said she loved me Her eyes said she’d suffered Her eyes wouldn’t stop talking.   In pettiness, I find grief, not just for her. I know I’m something more than wrong, I’m something worse than weak. I don’t think she notices.…

  • Suffering Writer’s Guilt

    I wonder if you suffer, too writer’s guilt and all of that. To see gray-blue as a feeling never a hue.

  • The Left, the Right, What’s Left: Continued Thoughts on Marcus Luttrell (Lone Survivor)

    I think the bastards should die. And I think the bastards should live. Those are my comprehensive thoughts about war and the Other Side. Listen. Let’s say you and I were driving somewhere, maybe to see my mother or camp or go shopping. You are driving. We are in a sharp curve, and a dog…

  • The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

    Explore grief. Joan Didion introduces you to her world as her husband dies and her only daughter goes though intense medical crises. One of the best books I’ve ever read because Didion is plain-spoken and sharp-edged. She is brilliant at looping ideas to reflect the ruminations of grief/depression—not to mention it’s also a cool writing…

  • Haunted

    Her words haunt me in the same way that Holocaust stories do.   She said No I don’t want to open my eyes it splatters everywhere death death death.   Her words remind me one doesn’t have to see the smoke to smell the ashes.

  • Answer

    For her to feel our family are vandals carving indifference into her heart Not here   She doesn’t use these exact words Where are they? The answer is exacting hissing in the air around and between us burning into the walls and branding our skin every inch words smoking notherenotherenotherenotherenotherenotherenothere