Tag Archives: grief

Champagne/real pain

And what to do with this? The champagne that I’d bought to celebrate the end of treatments and Mark’s victory over cancer. Representative of failure, a moment in the grocery store and my sudden, half-assed attempt to rouse his spirits … Continue reading

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Griefbabies

One week and one day ago, the boys and I lost a very good friend. One of my best friends lost her husband. A car accident took him instantly. Jerry was here, and then he was gone. Not a week … Continue reading

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How to forgive

If someone loves you and wants to marry you, and wants to read this to you at the wedding . . Let him. Be wowed. Be in awe of your good fortune. Be thankful. Be generous in praise and for … Continue reading

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Goodbye, Man-seum

This week, the boys have thrown themselves into a big project, cleaning up the garage. The space that had been Mark’s workshop was a wall-to-wall cluttered mess, a nagging reminder of loss, and of everything that wasn’t getting done (“Throw … Continue reading

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22 March 2014

. . Mark Allen Daves January 27, 1964 – March 22, 2012 . . make it count move through the day in love laugh hard show mercy (who doesn’t deserve it) call your mama and daddy move through the day … Continue reading

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The Feels

. March 20th: Lent is here, and the second anniversary of Mark’s death is only two days away. It’s just a date, just numbers. But man, they carry such weight. The approach of the anniversary makes for an intense time, … Continue reading

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Reclamation

and there it is not dying not this minute and the choice is made step back into this world and beloved fades a little a shadow of a shadow now a glance of movement at dusk a sound at the … Continue reading

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Whatever it was was it, wasn’t it?

. Whatever it was that I set out to do Just now Didn’t get done But the oven is clean To be honest, the oven did most of the work While we were out it was Burning, turning whatever that … Continue reading

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Summer is here, but summer vacation has gone the way of the dinosaurs. So, my teenage sons are spending way too many hours at home alone, on the computer, while I run to one job from the other. Poor dudes … Continue reading

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What remains

. What is left? A box of documents. Shoes in the closet. Ashes. Photographs. A book of instructions, handwritten, left incomplete. What stays? Not eyes, not fingers. Not touch. Not voice, not laughter Not words whispered before morning seeps into … Continue reading

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