The Grief Recovery Handbook

..so, in this excellent little volume
it tells us lots of things we know and eschews
the pat on the back and huge deep eyes of understanding
that continue to swim around in dreams, a little like
Sargeant Pepper and the Boys.

there is an exercise that suggests that one develop
a Loss Graph. that is, draw a line from your first conscious memory
until now and note the years in which major loss has occurred.
and see what your relationship to loss might be
and how these reactions have calcified and made you
into the oddly twisted person you may be at the moment.
phew-- there are lots of them-- for us all, i suppose
and what about political loss-- like GW, and the loss
we experienced when someone we love was losing big?
and then there is the loss you experience which is good--like weight?
the paper is black with scratchings.
i haven't read the next chapter yet, where they tell you how to complete
all that loss and presto! all is well.

i will tell you that i know T is good and happy.
i will tell you that we as a family had the gift of time
and sharing and our community to get us ready for this shift.
i will tell you that the transition seems right somehow and
sometimes bearable.. but mostly when in the house.
when i leave the house, for anything, that's when things get wobbly.
and now i understand agoraphobia, good for me!

our Sof is processing. tougher for her,
tools different, time different, soul different.
we are working on it together.

at the beach on Sunday morning with the gorgeous nieces and company
i caught sight of myself walking in the wind in T's leather coat
and there was an old woman there, alone, a little plump
the old aunt
seated at the table with the youngsters and there was a slice of
a future i am not choosing-- the kindness of strangers
one has to fight for vitality and the right to live
strong, independent, choosing life
rather than broken and a fifth wheel
oooh
not good

and then there was the Tarot reading from FLower
on the beach, started in the Haight, she says,
rings full of fingers, black roots erupting from her addled head
her stubby silver clad fingers, clutching the Virginia Slim
and enormous styrofoam cup of ice and the message was good and she
looks at me, this pile of flesh and history and says, Yeah honey,
we're about the same age-- and what has her journey been and where is it going?
and me too
and Her husband calls on her cell during the reading,
"hi babe" he says to this pyramid of moosh and
i realize the luxury of familiarity again.
okay okay

loss , familiarity, habit, adventure
they are all entwined.
large ropey creatures we are
now, just not to choke on the twists and turns

all is well