R.I.P. Uncle James

Uncle James was buried yes­ter­day. He hung on for weeks, and they’d final­ly moved him to home hos­pice care just a few days before he passed. At least he was­n’t in pain at the end, and the fam­i­ly did get…

Poetry: The Blue Bowl

The Blue Bowl –Jane Keny­on From Oth­er­wise: New & Select­ed Poems Like prim­i­tives we buried the cat with his bowl. Bare-hand­ed we scraped sand and grav­el back into the hole.                                They fell with a hiss and thud on his side, on his long red fur, the…

Mine

My pain is mine. My process is mine.  My griev­ing is not about any­one else. I have to process the grief and the pain and the nasty stuff that wells up from time to time. I know from expe­ri­ence that if…

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