a constant goodbye

//

it’s a constant goodbye,
saying goodbye to you

it’s in the saturday morning coffees,
and the chili you aren’t here to taste and adjust it’s flavors. you were always a better cook than me.

it’s in the quiet moments as i hear my own breath and i try to imagine you being where i turn my head and look

it’s in the late afternoons wishing the door would open and i would hear your voice saying, “hi honey, i’m home.”

it’s in the evening couch time as i surf to find a show and you aren’t here to debate with and finally decide and then mute the violent parts for me because you just know.

it’s in the late night teen chattiness and little man snuggles where you aren’t here to give your incredible insight or wrap your arms around your kids and hold them tight.

it’s in the silence, your voice was loud and deep and carried throughout the house.

it’s in the moments i cry doing dishes and washing clothes, because you have no more dishes, no more clothes, because you aren’t here with us doing the mundane parts of life that need cleaning up.

it’s in the doctor’s offices where your input is needed, where i desperately need to know what to say or to just know i’m not alone in facing this for myself, or alone in facing this with him.

it’s a constant goodbye in the rising sun, the setting sun, and all the moments in between. the unsaid moments, the unsayable moments, the dark moments and the light ones.

it’s a constant goodbye because goodbye was never said, not really, although we tried at the very end, but the body and heart knew we were just going through the motions and the truth is goodbyes were really unable to happen. you were gone before we even knew you were leaving.

it’s a constant goodbye,
a constant love.

{zt}

nothing

//

nothing looks right,

feels right.

directions skewed.

spaces altered.

colors confused.

thoughts duplicated and running together.

words missing.

hope on the run.

love twisted in knots.

knowledge of not knowing.

of never really knowing.

caustic tugging.

ghostly echoes.

blipped sightings.

tears caught in a swollen throat.

lost so far away,

no destination plotted or conceived.

nothing feels.

no way out upside down.

an inverted heart.

it is gone.

there is no resolution.

okay doesn’t exist here.

{zt}

burning house

//

this home is up in flames
the one we built together for thirteen years
smoke is everywhere with flames up to the ceiling
the heat is too much and I can’t save everyone
I can’t save you from these flames
in this burning house we are together again
can I come back in my nightmares?
our children are here too
and they’ve got to go
they can’t burn down too
but you, you won’t leave
you won’t come out of the fire
will I ever hold you again?
the flames I didn’t know were coming for us have engulfed it all
our lives all went up in smoke
there’s no way to get back to you
to keep trying will kill me
I didn’t know that I was so close to such a fire for years as the heat level rose unbeknownst to me
caught completely unaware by the burning down of all our dreams
you lit this fire it seems, gathered the supplies, doused everything with gas when you drove off dark-thirty that cursed sunday morning
lit the match and threw it on us all, even yourself, when you kept on driving across the country and never looked back
you let the fire blaze on and on
will I ever really know why?
will the feeling of wanting desperately to run into your arms and convince you life is indeed worth living ever go away?
we could have fought the flames together had you given us the chance
you took choice away from me, away from your children
you took all the power and you left us on your own terms, with the flames threatening to take us out alongside you.
part of me never left that burning house
part of me burned up, never to live again
but I got the kids and we left through the smoke and confusion
we made it out, you didn’t
I will never touch you again
never feel your body laying alongside mine again
never kiss your lips or run my fingers through your hair
never hear your laugh again or ask you for your advice and hear your thoughts on life and love and everything inbetween
am i destined to sleepwalk the rest of my life trying to get back to you over and over?
your actions have almost ruined me
our lives and souls so intertwined on every possible level
i still love you, and yet i’m so angry now
we will never get over this
we will never fully be okay again
you scarred our children and robbed them of knowing you and all the future times they will need their dad
we are destined now for this eternal dance of love and hate, of shock and disbelief, of how life somehow keeps going wherever it can even when your worst nightmare comes true.
our burning house burned completely down to the foundation
only ashes left, piles and piles upon ashes
in my dreams I walk through the flames to find you and run into your arms, to lay down beside you and hold you tight
our love will always now feel more painful than beautiful, you wrote that destiny for us.
damn you, how could you leave us to burn to the ground?
I would’ve done everything in my power to fight the flames with you, we could’ve overcome the fire, I believe that. you didn’t. you sold me short. you didn’t know how strong I was. you cheated us all. you decided for us all and you were wrong, so fucking wrong.

{zt}

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(a beautiful song called, burning house by cam, inspired this post)

#suicide

falling into grief

//

I wrote the following a year ago in April 2017. Little did I know that three months after typing these words my most horrendous grief experience would crash down around me like a relentless and unstoppable tsunami:

“Grief is ever-changing like the moving water in a river or ocean, never stagnant or completely still. There is always something happening, something stirring under the surface or above, or both. Sometimes grief is a like a river in how it winds and twists and turns. Sometimes grief is like an ocean with its strong currents, undertows, and merciless waves coming again and again and again. Sometimes grief is like a ferocious hurricane over the waters, gathering force and spinning out of control, bent on destruction of some sort or another, affecting whatever is in its path. Sometimes grief is like the constant drip drip drip of a leaky faucet, always there and annoying in an innocent dutiful naive manner. Sometimes grief is like a rainstorm on a tin roof that sings a comforting song with its melody.

I hate grief. And yet. It is cleansing and clarifying, and altogether terrible and sweet and relentless, all rolled up into a world of its own. Like water can be, at times it is comforting and warm; but it can also be jarring and dangerous, even life-threatening. It is a world I never feel I belong in, yet when I visit I no longer feel a stranger there, I feel like it is a place I have been before and know well, yet wish I never had to visit again. And yet. I often feel connected in ways in the throes of grief that somehow feel solid, that allow me to feel close to what and who I have lost. That closeness seems at times to fade or go in and out of focus, like a tether to that long lost loved one, or a camera that just cannot seem to find its sweet focus spot anymore, the connection changes as the grief changes. Some days it is undeniably strong and unavoidable like the pain of a fresh burn; others it is a faded other-world-ness dream of a life lived in an alternate space, a space that often seems just out of reach if I try to touch it. Grief crashes, drowns, tricks, surprises, contorts, burns and cracks, and yet it also envelopes, hugs, clears, strengthens, and straightens. Grief is ever-changing.” (Zoe Turner, April 2017)

//

Present day thoughts on this writing from a year ago: Well fuck me. Holy fucking shit. Yeah, I guess I thought I knew a thing or two about grief a year ago. I did know something on some level, but now it’s like walking along the streets of a town and feeling the wind and air hit your body versus reading about traveling to that particular town and what it must be like to visit there. Worlds apart, at least this is my lived experience. Nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared me for the suicide of my beloved person, my spouse. None of the former griefs, they all paled in comparison. My missing then dead spouse trumped them all, hands down. My world literally exploded. There were no patches large enough, no way to keep everything put together.

I’m learning to engage with grief better. I’m learning her ways, her tricks, her truths, her shortcuts, and her long winding paths. I’m going to keep putting one foot in front of the other, no matter how hard, because I don’t get a do-over, there are no replays, this is it, this is my life and I will live it.

{zt}

//

No man ever steps in the same river twice. For it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.

{Heraclitus}

//

“…We have this physical experience in loss of falling toward something. It’s like falling in love except it’s falling into grief.

And you’re falling towards the foundation that they held for you in your life that you didn’t realize they were holding. And you fall and fall and fall and you don’t find it for the longest time. And so the shock of the loss to begin with, and the hermetic sealing off, is necessary in grief. But then there comes a time when you finally actually start to touch the ground that they were holding for you.”

{David Whyte}

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>>>>compiled as a new guest post on Black Widow Blogs HERE.

everywhere yet nowhere

//

you are everywhere yet nowhere

upon waking you are on my mind

falling asleep filled with images of you

our wedding picture in the living room

family picture in the dining

grief is like food coloring into water

there is no chance of remaining untouched

it colors everything, every space

nothing left alone or unchanged

even when I make my coffee thoughts of you come in

simple things, complicated things, you are in them all

and yet I cannot find you

I cannot hear you or see you

I wonder where you really are right now

are you here in the streaks of sunlight?

the warmth of the light on my skin even when the air is so cold?

or are you actually nowhere? 

I hope you still exist somehow, someway, somewhere

I’ve begged to hear from you in my dreams but nothing comes

no secret signs or magical assurances

your absence is more present than you

everywhere yet nowhere

{zt}

hello suicide

//

I’m scratching and clawing my way to you right now in this very moment just to be here, to show up and tell you what a horrible mindfuck 2017 turned out to be. My amazing and beautiful husband of close to thirteen years died by suicide in August. It has been the horror of horrors. He went missing in July and we tried desperately to find him for about three weeks. I am almost five months out now from the two police officers coming to my door and telling me what I never dreamed in my worst dreams I would ever ever hear. I’ve missing writing here, and I’ve shared some on select places on social media, so this may not be a shock to some of you. Even now as I sit in a new state, in a new house, after a hellacious Christmas that at least my children enjoyed, I want to scream as loud as I can and run across the world to search everywhere for him, to find him, to save him, to bring him back.

On one hand I’m ready for 2017 to go the hell away, but on the other hand I’m not ready to enter a new year he will never experience, where he will not be here to make memories with. Life has not become all darkness, but the darkness touches everything on every level. I’m a fighter and I will keep fighting, but I never thought in my worst moments that life would become what it has become, that his life would come to such a traumatic end, when he was such an incredible beautiful soul.

I’m stopping now, it’s too painful and costs too much right now to say more. I leave you with an Everyone’s Agnostic podcast interview follow-up I did about two months ago where I’m able to talk about what happened to my husband.

Please for fucks sake if you are reading this and feeling suicidal, reach out for help, don’t go it alone. Please. Stay. Stay alive.

{zt}