I received word from A. about J. I am so sorry, my darling. I am here.
I am hugging you and holding your hand. I know it’s not much comfort but I am here for you, and you are not alone. Language falls short often when it comes to grief and loss…
I hope you find your own anchor during this time. You are loved.
Thinking about you today. Sending you a hug all the way from here.
My dear K.,
I don’t know how you do it. But you do it, nonetheless. To go out the door alone takes strength.
Understand that I’m thinking of myself if I was in your shoes; it’s a selfish thought, the temerity of comparing your life to mine. But a loss is a loss is a loss, and language fails, and I’m flailing each time I write you, wanting to tell you that you are loved and I am here, because I know all of this pales to the reality that’s before you.
Tomorrow, maybe it’s a different story again. And the day after that. And the day after that. The days will arrive one after the other. Some stories will change, and some stories will remain the same. You are loved. I am here.
Somewhere in the Sargasso Sea
the water disappears into itself,
hauling an ocean in.
Vortex, how you repeat
a single gesture,
come round to find only
yourself, a cup full of questions,
perhaps some curl of wisdom,
a bit of flung salt.
You hold an absence
at your center,
as if it were a life.