Where are you

Moon rose 

full and without 

compromise through the good 

garden of leaves, 

here and there 

stars rode in flickering 

slicks of water 

and for certain 

the burly trees 

hunched toward each other, 

their dark mantles 

like the fur of animals 

touching. It was 

summer on earth 

so the prayer 

I whispered was to no god 

but another creature like me. 

Where are you? 

The wind stood still. 

Lightning flung 

its intermittent flares; 

in the orchard 

something wandered 

among the windfalls, 

licking the skins, 

nuzzling the tunnels, 

the pockets of seeds. 

Where are you? I called 

and hurried out 

over the silky sea 

of the night, across 

the good garden of branches, 

leaves, water, down 

into the garden 

of fire. 

This skin you wear so neatly, 

in which you settle 

so brightly on the summer grass, how 

shall I know it? 

You gleam as you lie back 

breathing like something 

taken from water, 

a sea creature, except 

for your two human legs 

which tremble 

and open 

into the dark country 

I keep dreaming of. How 

shall I touch you 

unless it is 

everywhere? 

I begin 

here and there, 

finding you, 

the heart within you, 

and the animal, 

and the voice. 

I ask 

over and over 

for your whereabouts, 

trekking wherever you take me, 

the boughs of your body 

leading deeper into the trees, 

over the white fields, 

the rivers of bone, 

the shouting, 

the answering, the rousing 

great run toward the interior, 

the unseen, the unknowable 

center. 

- Mary Oliver, The Gardens

Where are you dear boy? This I have wondered for weeks and days. It does not matter where you are in your grief journey- there will be days, weeks, months and years that your soul suddenly aches for the missing with a new hunger for their touch, their voice, their smell, the feel of their beating heart. You search endlessly for them in the depth of your heart and must again accept that you will not find what you are searching for and you will not feel what you are missing. 

I go to nature continually to find him. Feeling. My heart. Soul. Sometimes I go alone, sometimes I go with my love and we find ourselves together and miss him together. And we hold ourselves together, both feeling the gut wrenching pain, but healing together in love. 

But some days, some weeks I just ache. And ache. And ache. Sometimes I’m distracted enough that it doesn’t feel like it will kill me. But other days it feels like it could take me away again. 

Then some days we find slivers of happiness, like our new pup Apollo 13 we rescued on the 13th. Somehow this little animal has brought some laughter as we watch him discover a free and wild world. But even in those moments I remember how Kreed discovered the free and wild world. And the ache comes again and again. 

Where are you? I never find Kreed at his resting place. First- that boy never rested a day in his life, always wanting more- more love, experiences, nature, French fries, joy and happiness. I find him in the wind whipping through my body, the suns warmth and in this free and wild world. 

Grief will always come in waves. Whoever said that way back when was correct. It doesn’t matter the time that passes or the way life changes. The pain is there. It’s there to stay. We just learn how to coexist with moments of happiness. We learn to laugh at the puppy and other animals, we learn to enjoy our moments together, but we always, always remember our boy in all of those moments. 

Where are you? Everywhere. 

Everywhere.

Carrying this grief

That time

I thought I could not

go any closer to grief

without dying

I went closer,

and I did not die.

Surely God

had His hands in this,

as well as friends.

Still, I was bent

and my laughter,

as the poet said, 

was nowhere to be found.

Then said my friend Daniel

(brave even among lions),

“It’s not the weight you carry

but how you carry it -

books, bricks, grief -

it’s all in the way

you embrace it, balance it, carry it

when you cannot and would not,

put it down.”

So I went practicing.

Have you noticed?

Have you heard

the laughter

that comes, now and again,

out of my startled mouth?

How I linger

to admire, admire, admire

the things of this world

that are kind, and maybe

also troubled -

roses in the wind,

the sea geese on the steep waves,

a love

to which there is no reply? 

- Mary Oliver, Heavy

We carry this grief. I can’t always say which way we carry it. Some days we are in a dark valley. There is no sun, no light, nothing to shine on our darkness. Surrounded by peaks, we traverse this dark valley, letting sadness come, memories come, and in some ways consume us. He was our world. The sun which we all spun around, and happily. His joy was infectious. He was the meaning of our life. Then gone. Taking all the light. 

Then some days, we climb up from that place. Together. She and I. Our hearts together, and our love pushing us to get out of that darkness. And we try. We try to stand in the light. We try to smile. We try to laugh. We try to find some measure of happiness. I know for me, it’s her. I love my wife and that’s what gets me up every day of my life. For that love, for our life. Even when I think I have lost who I am, I know I’m still someone, and I’m still loved for whoever I happen to be. 

I still miss him with everything I have and more. I miss the moments of just being. Existing. Without a clock. Without a list. Without a to-do. Just existing in those moments, doing whatever was needed at the time whether it was a trip out into the world and lessons to be learned, or a trip to decide who had the best French Fries. Or a journey into the wilderness to just exist with nothing but our own beating hearts. 

I haven’t hiked in some time. And it shows. But it’s so damn hard to face yourself with just yourself so often. To really look at yourself with nothing and just exist and ask yourself the tough questions. And to visit him, in his element and feel the things he felt. But I did it today and then here I am pouring my heart out, letting the tears fall. Instinct is to run. To run from yourself, your heart, your soul. Because this grief, this all encompassing, heart ripped out of chest feeling is not pleasant and for some, and at times, it’s so much easier to hide from it and not feel it. But here I am today, laying it all bare. 

And I will pick myself up. Do what’s necessary and then go home. To love. To light. And know that things will be okay and sink into a long embrace and just be. Exist. And learn this life together without our sun.