a poem for my late father on Father’s Day

Our Garden

The garden,

That’s where he met me.

Weathered walls,

Gated; secret.

Unkempt and abundant,

Scents of green,

Heady perfume,

A wild meadow,

Encircled by bark,

Safe; hidden away,

This private beauty.

The gate opened,

Momentary present,

We walked,

Caressed by roses,

Tugged by thorns.

“There was nothing to say.”

“I’m grateful for what was.”

Fresh-water words,

A hand held,

A flickering embrace,

He turns and goes.

Nearly to the gate,

And I run, ever after, in pursuit.

“Don’t go, I love you.”

A smile, and then:

“Come to the garden;

Here, I’ll always be.”

For my Dad – Father’s Day 2017

Image credit: AboutBritain.com

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…who looks inside, awakes

inside awakes

It’s been a while since I’ve posted because I had my birthday, went away for the weekend, and am now knuckling down (in theory), working on my Counselling Certificate assignment.

At said course I came across this quote and thought I’d quickly post it and invite your thoughts or stories.

What have you learned about yourself by looking in (as opposed to being told) that has changed the way you live for the better?

Here’s another question I’d love to hear some answers too…

What is it about you that other people need and benefit from encountering?

Go on, be brave and say something good about yourself. It could be something you once thought was negative but have since realised the good in it.  It could be something you’ve gained from a life experiences or an aspect of your personality.

Hit me with it in the comments.

“Where are you?”

I call out 

to feelings

so deadened

by this grief.

 

I know not,

You.

 

listless; beyond pain,

insensate; behind joy.

 

an empty moor,

a garden door,

locked.

 

unyielding thorny mass

wound weeping pus

blocked.

 

how can I heal;

when it isn’t real?

 

This poem is about the numbness that is a part of the grieving journey. For the past two years this has been my predominate symptom. The best way I can describe it is that I feel neither sadness nor joy at the memories of my Dad. Furthermore, I feel I can’t really access them. At worst, it is as if I never knew him. My mind has severed all connectivity and it feels uncomfortable and wrong and unnaturally pain-free.

I’ve noticed that as I’ve worked through some other issues the wall weakens and grief pops up for a day at most then nestles back down in its safe, which I don’t know the combination to.

I am both reverent over the workings of my mind and frustrated by it.

Can’t it all just come out and be done with?

I want people to understand that grief is a process that has to be worked through – and experience has taught me that grief is work, extremely hard work; but, if we do the work, it can work for us by enabling us to heal.

Julia Samuel, Grief Works

I imagine my grief playing the role of Mum in the following exchange with my son from earlier today:

Him: Please can I watch Transformers?

Me: No darling.

Him: WHY?

Me: Because you already watched a film today and that is enough TV time.

Him: But I want to watch it!! Why can’t I?

Me: Because too much TV isn’t good for you.

Him: But I WANT to watch it.

Me: Sometimes you want things that aren’t good for you, but I know what you need better than you do.

Him: Wwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!