healingwords: poetry for the soul

Three years have passed since my father died. Three years seems enough to recover from this loss but in this time I have learned that grief has no timetable. What is right for one is not for another and there should be no judgement at how we feel or the length it takes to become accustomed to a new reality.  In a way I don't think we ever are the same again, we just learn to continue life without our special people in them. When Dad died I also lost the link to my mother, who we talked of every day and kept alive together and my connection with my childhood and sense of place when the family home was sold. Living away certainly intensifies these feelings.  My best advice for the newly bereaved is the classic cliche of time. Keep them present, don't hide them away, include their memories, stories, opinions in your daily life and in time the sadness of their going eases and their presence in family life becomes natural and easy.  I can still be overwhelmed with ...

  There must very few who do not wish for one more chance to speak to those they have loved and lost. I wrote this poem shortly after my Dad’s death when I was desperate to feel him near, to believe he had not really left me. A year on I fear he is really gone. He often said he would let me know he was ok but we didn’t work out how! Maybe he has tried and I just haven’t noticed.       WAITING I have asked for a sign;    too late to arrange one with you in person. Had I known your heart would stop so suddenly I would have spoken sooner, thought of some plan, some way for you to let me know that you are ok, wherever you are. Instead I am wandering, lost and afraid like the child you made feel safe. Still prone to stinging tears, welling and spilling down my face. Unexpected grief, when the bank cut up your cards or I cancelled your milk; on the train back from Wales, as commuters tried...