The other day I looked up at the full moon shining behind the huge maple tree in our backyard, and I was simultaneously awash in feelings of awe over its beauty and in melancholy. I had a similar experience the… Read moreRevisiting Melancholy

Deep, reflective Blue – the color of the glass witch ballgifted to us as a wedding present,hanging in the corner of our dining room.I think of all the things it has seen and heard,and wish I could play them all… Read moreOur Blue

The last time I wrote found poetry, it was words plucked from the pages of a birds of prey rescue newsletter. This time I picked up a newspaper and plucked words from a spread in the sports section. salvaged hope,… Read moreFound Poetry, Take 2

It’s so common for us to be our own worst critic. When Sara was alive, she was a great counterweight to my internal critic. Should would always remind me how much I’m taking care of and why she loves me,… Read moreKindness to Myself

It’s been a little over 14 months since I first (and last) wrote explicitly about the permanent roommate who joined me after Sara and George died. The personification of my grief. I wish I could say that we’ve found our… Read moreMy New Roommate: 14 Months Later

Cuddle Punk One of Sara’s favorite perfumes… “An unconventional combination of apricot, pipe tobacco and vanilla,” says the manufacturer. I remember she wore it on our wedding day – I may have actually picked it out, but the memory is… Read moreAn Unconventional Combination

Picture if you will a landscape – a small river, land and trees, wild plants and wildlife. Humans are pretty good at turning any landscape into something that supports our existence. Over time, we might build a dam on the… Read moreA Landscape so Vastly Changed

Some people advocate that that it’s our mission to uncover who we are at our core – that there’s some unchanging absolute self buried beneath all the layers of life. I guess I just don’t really see it that way…. Read moreIdentity Lost

I am trying to love life, to love it evenwhen the sunlight each morning is reflectedthrough the shattered pieces of my broken heart,a prism of both pain and love.Each day my body reminds me that I am missing my other… Read moreto love it even when

The hardest thing was trying to swallow my fear. I was the steady one, the calm one. I could talk Sara down and help ground her. We never asked the doctor what her chances were, what the statistics were, but… Read moreThe Hardest Thing

I read a book recently, Smoke Gets in Your Eyes: And Other Lessons from the Crematory, an autobiographical book about the author’s time working as a young adult in a Crematory, which led her to find a career in the… Read moreDreading the Conversational