healingwords: poetry for the soul

Today our family remember Jake who we lost 13 years ago. It is hard to believe so many years have passed and a testament to love and survival that we have learned to live without him. In his short life he touched all who knew him and he will live on with us forever. I posted this poem in his memory last year.  THE MAN IN THE MOON Sometimes I see  a youth in the street who reminds me of him, fresh face smiling, base ball capped, arms swinging with spirit, full of life, until I remember our lad is stranded in time, the years have not aged him, worries have not tired him, love and children have not graced him; I might not even recognise the man he would become. He lives forever in my mind, the laughing toddler, the skate boarding teen, the man in the moon, the loving boy  we lost too soon.

When I was young I was fortunate to have a nana and grandad who who were always there for me, taking care of us when my parents worked. I didn't miss my other grandparents, not understanding what I had lost.  As I grow older and am now a grandmother myself I find myself thinking more of the grandparents I never knew. They live on in the memories passed down by my mother, stories told and retold. © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

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 ...

On All Saint's Day in Spain families travel to be together and take flowers to the graves of their loved ones. It is a national holiday and was a festive day long before the tacky side of Halloween overtook the shops here. My hallowed ground is a wood in Warwickshire which is in my mind today as I remember with love those who are no longer with me.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

This briar rose was blooming in the herb garden in The Burren Perfumery in the Burren area of Country Clare. It took me back to our garden where my father picked a briar rose for my mother every day of her final illness. We picked the last rose to place in her hand as she lay at peace. My visit to Ireland was an emotional one, in the footsteps of my mother and her people. I felt at home there, comforted by the beautiful green countryside, cheered by the warmth of everyone we met.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

I always cautioned my Dad not to get obsessed with dates, birthdays, Christmas, anniversaries. I was trying to protect him but now I think it is perhaps necessary to remember those dates. We miss those we love every day but I think we need the outlet of the special day to be quiet with them, remember and feel their love. My mum died on this day 9 years ago, it is the fiesta day of the Divine Aurora in our village and she died as my children in the band were playing the 'Aurora' in the village square, surrounded by people gathered for the procession. I remembered that night in this poem.  https://blog.healingwordspoetry.com/2018/08/the-divine-aurora-in-memory-of-lilian.html

Today is not a birthday or an anniversary or any special day for remembering my parents but they are on my mind. Maybe I am missing my July visit, an escape from the heat of Spain to the beautiful green of England. They are with me always, in my mind, in the woods, in my children's memories, in the garden.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

Today is the first day of Spring and my Dad's birthday. Another year has passed. The deep grief of loss changes but the loss remains This morning I am both sad I can no longer pick up the phone to ring him, hear his voice, his stories, his advice but cheered by thinking of him.  My parents stay with me in the memories of the life we shared.  SPRING MEMORIES I thought I was over the flush of tears, as if there is an agreed number of years when sudden hot, salt pricks are admissible, now melancholy feels like indulgence. Dates creep towards us, aware he would say a birthday is just another day, the dawn of Spring breaks with blue sky, streaked with golden memories to remind me of my loss. He is everywhere, framed his piercing gaze meets mine as if he is really there, trapped behind glass on the mantlepiece, winking in the flickering candle light. He is in the iridescent labradorite gleaming on freckled skin, nestled with...

Another year has gone by without my father. A year of continued loss and sadness but lightened with joy as my grandson grows and my family and friends fill my life with love. I have much to be thankful for.  It is also a year since I started this poetry blog, inspired by my father. I have posted more than 50 poems and reached thousands of readers.  I have written about my experience of loss and grief, the healing power of nature and friendship, my home in Spain and my memories of England. I have also posted poems on injustice, the right to vote, corruption and inequality, sadly including gender violence. I have enjoyed the process of writing and publishing this blog and hope that it has been a worthwhile venture for readers.  Today's poem is still about grief but looking forward to a time when the memories will be joyful and the loss easier to bear.  Thank you all, I am grateful for the support so kindly given.  HEALING   I wear my grie...

Last winter I spent some weeks in Coventry emptying and selling our family home. This was a difficult time, saying goodbye not only to my parents but to my childhood and my link to England. This house remained my home, it was where we all returned to, where my own children and even my tiny grandchild stayed and visited, a special place for us all. Being at the house without my father, sorting through my parents belongings, knowing I would soon not be able to return, already missing the garden, I was overwhelmed with sadness.     This poem recalls the day I tried and failed to be cheerful, leaving my friends after helping to decorate the party room, knowing I was still set apart from normal life. Without thinking I stopped at the woods, alone in the dusk and after time with the trees and the silence, felt some sadness lift and float away into the night sky. I returned home lighter, with oak leaves in my pocket.   Grief is a process, there are days when I am still hit h...

A year has passed since the death of my father. A year in which I miss our daily conversations, his constant love and support, his wisdom and humour. On a difficult day when I all I could think of was the trauma of his death I heard his voice telling me to stop crying and write a poem. This poem recalls some of the special times I spent with my Dad. The sadness remains as to keep him entertained in his housebound later years I would email my poems to him. When clearing out his house I found a file with printed copies of everything I had ever sent him, poems, childrens stories, my unfinished memoir, the collection of poems about my mother’s life and death, my childrens rhymes. I wish he could read this one last poem and hope he knows how much he is loved. IN PLACE OF TEARS Standing on a chair at the kitchen sink, rinsing my hair in vinegar to make it shine; buffeted by wind on a Welsh beach sculpting a sand car big enough to drive; di...