Posts in Death
Dead for Good

There was once a man I needed to have be dead. I got as far away from him as I could get, and told myself that was far enough. Then time went by, years, and whenever he came into my mind, which was less and less over time, I told myself he was surely dead by now. 

But last night as I was falling asleep, a voice said you don’t know. You don’t know for sure he’s not drinking a beer right now. People can live a surprisingly long time. 

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Proceed Slowly—Grief at Work

My Daddy lived with me before he died. I didn’t write during that time. I wish I had known then about how healing it can be but knowing myself as I do now—somewhat petulant and always right, of course—I probably would’ve flung aside the idea that anything could help. Besides, when would I have had time to write? Puh-leeze! I was teaching full-time, I had a teenage daughter, my marriage was falling apart, my siblings were nowhere to be found, and I was fast approaching menopause.

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Dark to Light

There’s a picnic table in my sunroom, an old pine table notched together with wooden pegs, and two benches worn from over sixty years of sitting, first in my childhood kitchen, then more recently here, in my own house, all these years later, where I take my breakfast, to sit and munch and gaze at the out of doors, the backyard, and all its animal busyness that comes with early mornings.

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Gifting

I really didn't know what to do about her birthday.  Should I mention it and see if the kids remember?  Should I make a cake?  No clue.  So I asked them.  Grace said, "why don't we get pizza and then go to the bookstore and each pick out a book for Mommy's birthday?"  But then she kind of ruined it by saying "and then when Grammie dies we can get a book and when Poppy dies we can get a book and when Ripley (the dog) dies we can get a book."  Calvin thought it was a good idea as long as his could be Power Rangers.  So that's what we did.

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Eight Minutes

Eight minutes…eight minutes…eight minutes and he was gone.
 
He is obviously more present dead than alive.
 
Solid, stoic, and oppressively kind, he was a young man of few words and gone before the smoke from the gun settled into the grassy lawn.
 
It was eight minutes from the time he stepped out of his brother’s car (singing, laughing, and joking) to the moment his bloody head hit the floor.

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