Six Months to Numb Your Senses. {poetry}
It wasn’t easy, but six months on, I can safely say that I can now think of my father without the tears rolling uncontrollably.
Browsing Tag:
dad
Duende of Grief: When We Roamed as Cathars. {poetry}
And we broke bread... you stood and raised your glass to 'mes amis', whom I had known for centuries, when we had roamed the hills as Cathars.
Landslide: The Rumble and Rubble of My Dad’s Death.
I can’t recall feeling angry with Dad for his death, perhaps that is still to come. I have felt angry that I’ve had to deal with any of it at all.
Everything Is Missing, Dad, Including You. {poetry}
Dad saw himself as disabled, and in some ways he was. He was an emotional cripple, that’s for sure. He flew into rages over nothing.
An Ode to My Mum: The Life She Led.
The boundaries and constraints of the culture within which she lived her daily life limited and controlled any free will she may have wished to express.
Dead Dad, Why Are You Following Me?
My dad wasn’t barefoot because he was a wild free hippie unbound by society's norms and expectations, he didn’t have shoes!
Dad, I Don’t Think Life Turned out How You’d Planned.
I know you love laughing and making others laugh… I don’t think you can relax enough anymore to get lost in that kind of connection.
Jeanious: She Was a Good Mom Because She Loved Us.
Grief and fury scoured her throat. “Don’t you understand? She was a good mom because she loved us, not because she never wanted anything else in her life!"
Missing My Mojo: Mending Nets and Praying for Peace.
Life is hard enough without putting pressure on ourselves. In Divine right timing, all will unfold, and as Juliana of Norwich said, "All shall be well."
Words Are Birthed, But Silence Is the Womb.
When dad can’t find the words, I touch that depth of silence. This is a good space. The authentic and generative energy where creation truly happens.