What binds me?

 

(Yes, I know it is Friday. I'm a day late!) 

Karen Eastland offered today's writing inspiration/prompt - to think about 'what we bind ourselves to' in our spiritual journeys. Check out her thoughtful reflections on this theme, and read the comments for links to other writers and their responses.

bind -
     to tie or fasten tightly

This prompt is so expansive...and a bit of a riddle, really. 

I wonder, 
am I bound spiritually? 
Tied up? 
Unable to believe in new ways? 
What anchors me?

Yes, my meditation on this theme has taken me in a zillion different directions and left me untethered (pun, yes?). 

Ultimately, for this post, I have landed in grief. Let me try to explain - 

A short while back, my sister-in-law died unexpectedly; she was very, very dear to my husband and me. She was his baby sister, and, with him being only two years her elder, she was someone who has always been a part of his world. Certainly, she has always been a part of my world with him; she was one of the very first family members I met, when he and I started dating. So, this is one of those tough deaths that feel 'unfair,' 'too soon,' 'more was possible.' It is painful. 

I decided to simply hone in on one small sliver of my spiritual understanding of the word "bind," which is to ask - 

what anchors me when a loved one dies? 

I offer a poem.

as I grieve

what am I to think 
of the turkey vulture
watching  
from our very roof
when
tears 
stain our cheeks 
welt our eyes
tremor our bodies
with the news 
of your death,
you,
our forager?

then
in the days
that passed
in the mournful
after
there are so many woodpeckers
working
hunting
finding

these are an easier happier perkier beauty
lively little birds
percussive shouts
pauses
further taps
as if
to say
HEY! 
LOOK UP! 
LOOK HERE! 
LOOK NOW!

which is you
which is you
which is you

every woodpecker
reminds
I feel
remember
hold you
in my heart
softly

nature 
mysterious and beautiful
little heavenly embraces 
offering light

as I grieve 

the sun telescopes through a dark gray sky 
a cardinal suddenly appears in the dogwood tree 
lenten roses stretch their freckled ruffled heads and genuflect
a wandering cat lingers on my driveway to greet me
the doe pauses as she crosses the street, looks right at me, 
tilts her head ever so gently
as I grieve 

each of these healing finds

a connection
to someone I hold dear
bridging is and was

a liminal touch

nature holds me wraps me binds me
as I grieve

the drumbeat of the woodpecker echoes my heart
as I grieve

SOLSC 2022 - #1 Depleted at the start

 

It is March 2022 and time for the

 15th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge  

Every single day, for all thirty-one days of March,

writers will share stories.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for creating this supportive community 

of teacher-writers!

Hello, hello!

I have participated in this story challenge for many years...I believe this is my eleventh year of participation. This yearly tradition has helped me develop as a writer, introducing me to the joyful work of daily writing and the experience of writing alongside others. SOLSC is a beautiful habit. I look forward to the writing. During February, I usually do some advance planning. Although I have learned to trust that there is ALWAYS something to write about each day, I often brainstorm topics, think of themes, or some connecting thread. Last year, for example, I included a famous quote by a woman that somehow fit thematically with each slice of life. 

This year, I have no advance thinking, I simply tumble in. This year I begin 

depleted.

Ten days ago, my dear sister-in-law, my husband's younger sister, died unexpectedly. 

Tony and I were on vacation in Florida. It was February break in DC schools and our weekly babysitting of the grands was cancelled; we had pounced on this 'time off' for some fun together in the sun. We had been there exactly one day, when we received word of her death. 

The past days have been a sad, exhausting, mourning blur.

We got back home last night.

This is how the March writing challenge begins for me.

I cannot predict whether I will be able to write each day...but, it begins 

one word

one sentence 

one story

at a time. 

Here goes!

What of this deer?

 

I've been unable to shake an image from a recent walk along my favorite path in the park: a large buck trapped in the cold creek water, on a bitter cold day just before Thanksgiving, caught up somehow in broken branches, rocks, and vines, struggling unsuccessfully to get himself out. My friend and I were walking along, lost in conversation, when a young man interrupted us with a shout, "Excuse me! Please! Can you help? Look, look at this deer! Trapped in the creek!" 

There the deer was. Dying before our eyes. How he looked at us, eyes searching, filled with pain! Those eyes, staring directly at me.

I felt so helpless. Useless. Inadequate. 

I got out my phone and called for the county's animal control, and the phone just rang and rang. I called fire and rescue, explaining it was not an emergency, and shared the situation. They assured me that they would notify the proper authorities. The deer continued his struggle. Not knowing what more we could do, we walked on, hearts heavy, trying to imagine how the deer had ended up stuck like that in the creek - perhaps he'd been struck by a car on the roadway? 

We have so many deer in this area, and honestly - they have frustrated me so! This past spring and summer, it seemed as if every new bloom in my garden was eaten and destroyed by hungry deer. Yes, I have been plenty impatient, cursing their existence. But seeing this large buck trapped in this way - oh my, this was something altogether new. My heart hurt.

By the time my friend and I circled back on our walk, some 30 minutes later, there was no sign of the trapped deer - and for one brief, spectacular moment, we thought he had broken free. However, with a more studied look, we saw that it lay nearby, its now dead body mostly submerged in the creek, its round midsection and antlers protruding above the water.

We stopped for a quiet moment, and stared, taking it all in. 

Nearby, along the road, was a park police cruiser; we walked over to talk to the officer, to be sure that they knew about the dead deer in the water. The officer shared that they had come to investigate, having received a couple different phone calls, and they had found the deer with its leg broken. They shot the deer to put it out of its misery.  The officer was waiting for animal control, to dispose of the remains. 

Shooting the deer, oh my - this was both necessary and horrible. So many deer, so many humans, all of us mixed up together, sharing the world. 

I've tried to capture my mixed emotions in this poem:

what of this deer

what of this deer 

laying writhing dying 

in the cold creek water

trapped amongst branches

leg broken mangled hurt

he cant get up, get out, get going

what of this deer

leads me to compassion 

calling out soothing words of encouragement and concern

calling out for help from passersby

calling out for county assistance, proper authorities, animal rescue?

what of this deer

in my own yard

eating all the blossoms of the garden

leaving them mashed mangled bits of brokenness 

upon the surface of the soil

severing their futures

what of this deer

leads me to anger and frustration and shouting 

what of this deer?

___________________

It's Tuesday and I am participating in the

 Slice of Life.  

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

dear neighbor

stunning surprising surreal
word 

a dear neighbor died 

unexpectedly

tingles all over

trembles

she was much too young

the death far too sudden

such a dear soul

kind

caring

vibrant

generous

light-hearted

grief as a wave overwhelming

chilling crumpling confusing

all of us in tears

off-balance

this cold awareness

something beautiful and precious 

gone forever 

extinguished

a hole in the whole

it must be obvious to all everyone anyone

stranger or friend

walking through our neighborhood -

the absence of light

___________________

It's Tuesday and I am participating in the

 Slice of Life.  

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

Redbuds and memories

It's Tuesday and I am participating in the

 Slice of Life.  

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

This past Friday, April 9th, was a spectacular spring day to be outside. Tony and I worked together in the yard, trying to eradicate those endless weeds and spotlight the spring flowers. I had a writer's notebook at the ready, trying to capture "live action" words for writing haiku, which was that day's poetry prompt with Dr. Sarah Donovan's Ethical ELA #VerseLove, where I am writing poetry every day in April.

We worked quietly, slowly, trowels in hand, moving the dirt, tossing the weeds, enjoying the day. We were already aware of the date and then noticed our redbud in peak bloom, always a beautiful sight. Both of us immediately got a little misty-eyed, and began to talk about its meaning. 

You see, we planted it to commemorate Tony's father, who died April 9, 1995. Twenty-six years ago. Wow. 

How can this time be, at once, both so long ago and yet so current, so right there, at the ready?

 

Are you finding yourself so much more raw and accessible, big emotions right there on your sleeve, during this time of pandemic? I find myself thinking back, reflecting frequently, on those I've loved who have died. 

Is it simply because I'm getting older? 

Is it spending sweet time with my granddaughters, seeing 'the passage of time'? 

Is it the loss of my father, earlier this year, after losing my mother two years ago, and this realization that I'm the older generation now?

Is it being retired, spending more time writing and reflecting?

Perhaps all of these play a role, but I think it mostly has to do with this time of grief we are all living through. This world in grief.

Without a doubt, I am so much more aware of the brevity of life. 

Tony and I, we remembered how, when we received word that Papaw had died, we immediately packed up the kids and the car and drove the long drive south from Maryland to Atlanta to be with family, to be in mourning. All along the long, long drive, spring flowers were blooming, and what was especially beautiful were these gorgeous purple blossoms that seemed to burst through the greenery of the trees - redbud trees. All along the way, purple, purple, purple. 

My father-in-law died at age 87, a couple months before our youngest son was born. He was a truly good and kind soul and it's always made me sad that I only knew him for maybe seven-eight years, that I had not had more time with him. We lost three of Tony's family in 1995; in addition to his father, who died of cancer, he lost two older brothers, one to a heart attack and one to cancer. It was a brutal year for us, in our young marriage, grieving all this loss. 

Lots has happened in those twenty-six years. Our youngest child is an adult now, and he never even got to meet this grandfather. His whole memory of Papaw and his uncles is through our family stories, memories shared. Even our older sons were short-changed in their time with these loved ones, being only 6 and 3 years of age. 

I do believe we have done a pretty good job of sharing memories with them, through the years. 

But that is the way life works, yes? We live and we die. If we are lucky, we get to love and be loved. Yes, for me, this awareness of the tenderness, the fleetingness, the fragility of life is felt more profoundly during this time of pandemic, with so many abbreviated lives all around. 

Let me close with some haikus about these redbud reflections - Tony and I actually wrote the fifth one together, which was very sweet.

day in the garden
turning over the soil
memories flowing

we planted a redbud
to bloom each year at this time
in your memory

when the redbud blooms 
we remember when you died
and sent us kisses 

flashes of purple
amongst the bright greenery
throughout the mountains

flowering redbuds
reassurances from you
all the long drive south

SOL21 Slice 3: A wink

 

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL21).  

All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 

 every day for the month of March 2021.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

The morning after 

my father died

last September

the sky was cloudy and gray 

then the sun peeked through

pausing me 

drawing me

embracing me

momentarily

a friend calls this

God's eye

she shouts

Hello, God!

I thought it more

a wink

a hello

a "you'll be okay"

from Dad

No, I'm not confusing

my Dad 

with God

I just needed that 

reveal of sun

in the midst of the dark

to imagine Dad

around

Now, exactly six months

feeling his absence

can you believe

the sun winked at me

again?

all along my walk

up and down the streets

in the midst of dreary and gray 

there's that wink

of sun

breaking through

pausing me 

drawing me

embracing me

tenderly

brightening my day

remembering

And when great souls die,

after a period peace blooms,

slowly and always,

irregularly

- Maya Angelou

Alongside

On this third day of the November 5 Day OpenWrite with Dr. Sarah J. Donovan's Ethical ELA, the poetry inspiration was about 'receiving,' thinking about what I need most and how that might change things. When I sat down to write, I unexpectedly landed in reflection about my father's death. This poem emerged:

I sat alongside you 

in mask and face shield

your last three weeks

holding and stroking your hand

listening to the playlist

I made for you

on the long car drive to your bedside

I sat alongside you

whispering love and comfort

reminding of our childhood antics 

reassuring you of this life well lived

imagining Mom and Grandpa

waiting on the other side

I sat alongside you

in the nursing home

in this pandemic

thankful for this precious time together

I asked you

is there more?

how might you let me know?

come back to me somehow?

would you try?

will there be a sign?

I sit now

waiting to receive.

Moon or sun?

Wind or rain?

Bird or butterfly?

Fallen tree on the forest path?

you 

alongside 

me

Here are the comments I received on the Ethical ELA website:

Barb Edler

Maureen, oh my gosh, I totally love your poem. I can feel your desire for that sign. What a wonderful gift you gave in being there for your beloved (grandmother?). The beauty of the end is heart-wrenching, and your final three words are so powerful! Tears! I hope you receive your sign!!! Hugs!

Maureen Young Ingram My father died. Thank you for this!

Barb Edler

Maureen, thanks for your note. I’m so sorry for your loss!

Glenda M. Funk

Glenda M. Funk

Maureen,
Your words are so ethereal, and I know cathartic for you. Your poem is a lovely companion to Susie’s. There’s an inherent peacefulness to this time w/ your father, and to the waiting. Sending love and light to you.

gayle sands

Maureen—You alongside me. Beauty and love. Your soft, loving poem for your grandmother touched me. So glad you could be there for her—and for you.

Emily Cohn

This one got me “right in the feels” as the kids would say. I really connected with your last two stanzas, and that hope/wish for a sign, a connection. Really beautifully done.

Susie Morice

Oh, Maureen – losing your dad .. and now during these crappy Covid months is just a heartbreaker. The gentle holding of his hand was the most poignant image. The questions in the last half are very real as we make sense of the loss. The sense that loss feels final but our hearts carry so much more. Those signs sneak up in us. It always surprises me, and I kinda like that. I sure am sorry you had this loss during this crummy isolating time. Hugs, Susie

Nancy White

Maureen, my heart is breaking. I know what loss is and the waiting to receive a sign. “ I sit now
waiting to receive.
Moon or sun?
Wind or rain?
Bird or butterfly?
Fallen tree on the forest path?”
This struck a deep chord in me. Signs do come along the way; I think you will see them. Blessings and peace to you! 

Stacey Joy

Whew, Maureen, this is a powerful poem. I feel so many emotions in the first stanza that reminded me of the end of days with my loved ones. But your second stanza is magical and special because it calls for supernatural power. It can happen. I believe. Thank you for sharing such an intimate time with us.

Gail Aldous

Maureen, such beauty, power, and, emotion in your poem. I relate to your words because I lost my mother a little over a year ago. I remember waiting for signs. I love your whole poem, but “Moon or sun? Wind or rain? Bird or butterfly?
Fallen tree on the forest path? you alongside me” goes right to my heart. Wow.

Gail Aldous

Maureen, I also want to say I am sorry for the loss of your father. I also want to say thank you for your sharing healing poem.