Breathe

Breathe

I miss you now

At the end of the year

More than ever.

I want you to see

Another New Year.

My heart is broken

You aren’t here.

Somehow I must find a way

To walk again.

My grief is heavy

As I learn to walk

To smile and nurture and care.

And God says to me

“Breathe

I’ll teach you

I’ll carry you

Gently through the days

Just Breathe”.

I breathe

It is really hard

All I can do is breathe

And God carries me

He holds me firm

He teaches me to walk

To smile and care

and nurture.

My heart is still broken,

You are still not here,

My grief is still heavy,

But look,

I’m walking.

I’m learning to walk again.

Elizabeth Williams

written in December 2013

revised today 8/6/14

The Cat Who Grieved

He lay curled up in the straw, in his box by the back door. Each time I looked, there he was. The days turned into weeks and still he lay there. He must be getting up sometimes, to eat or pee. I put his dish next to his little bed so he could smell it. His water was close by. He is a barn cat. He was born in the garage and went to live in the barn when he grew up. His mother was a small cat who we met at a farm. She was born outside under some stuff, and when we went to the farm to pick up our milk she begged us to take her home. She wasn’t old enough to leave her mother, but her mother had died and so we brought her home. We called her Amelia. There never was a smarter more playful cat than Amelia. She would hide under Chloe’s bed and when I went to tuck her in at night Amelia would reach her paw out and scratch me. Then she would run away to another room. I would have to lift up the bed skirts before I got close to the bed. Sometimes I would take a big step right up onto Chloe’s bed just to say goodnight. Other times she would hide at the top of the stairs and peek her head around to see if you were watching. She would reach her paws under the bathroom door when you were in there. She was so much fun. Then one day she decided that she wanted to be a mother. We found her in a box in the garage with 5 kittens. They were gorgeous, beautiful little things. We got her all set up but she wanted to be left alone. So we left her for a couple of weeks. We set up a food and water station in the garage but we left her alone. One time she let me babysit. She meowed for me and I went over to see her. She got out of the box and came back and forth a few times before she went outside. I watched the babies, they were getting bigger and more curious. Their eyes opened gradually and they began to wobble away from their home. One day she took an unruly kitten and put him far away from the others. I watched in horror as the little thing cried while she nursed the others. After awhile she went and got him and he didn’t make the mistake of straying again. He snuggled in and she cleaned him up. I didn’t know that cat mothers used ‘time out’. When they got older the whole family moved into the barn. They had a beautiful home carved out in the straw. Chloe set up a station for their food and water. The days were full of wonderful kitten adventures and I took a video of Chloe playing with them. She stood on the play structure at the top of the slide with her fishing pole. On the end of the line she had a rubber toy. She cast out onto the grass and the kittens chased the rubber toy across the lawn and part way up the slide. She had a lot of fun with them. Amelia was a great tree climber. She climbed trees like a squirrel, jumping from limb to limb. It was fantastic to see. Soon the whole cat family were climbing trees and playing in the branches. As the kittens grew bigger, Amelia grew smaller. She was not the tease she used to be, but a gentle, loving, wise mother cat. She taught them to catch mice and to eat them. They began to outgrow her and we put a sign out by the road. Chloe had given them names and one by one they went to new homes, to be the companion to a little girl or a grandmother. We stopped giving them away after three. The last two were inseparable. One was black with small white specks. We called him Speckles. The other gray with some white. His name is Fifi (feefee). They walked side by side together. They lay together all wrapped up with each other. They ate together and climbed trees together. In the mornings they would follow me out to the chicken coop to open the doors with me. They would sit by the coop door and watch the chickens coming out, one by one. Then they would follow me back to the barn where I would feed them. One day Amelia was gone. She was gone for several days before she came back. But she came back to die. She wanted to see her kittens and us first. She had a lot of horrible injuries and we think she may have been attacked by coyotes. Coyotes kill a lot of cats around here. We buried her under the lilacs, beside the well pit. Chloe painted a cross and decorated it with flowers and painted her name boldly across it. Mark put it in the ground and we said prayers over her. We thanked God for letting us have such a wonderful pet and to please take care of her now. It was a difficult moment and very difficult for Chloe. Speckles and Fifi became even closer after that. They began to sleep at the back of the house so we moved their box of straw. I still found them sleeping in the barn though when I went out to feed the chickens. They were cool cats. They would catch sparrows in the laying house, together with Shelby our golden retriever. Speckles could hold a sparrow in one paw up against the wall while waiting for Shelby to grab it. Fifi could jump high and grab one out of the air. Amazing feats for those two barn cats. Then one day Speckles was gone. Mark found him on the road and we buried him next to his mother and put a cross over him. Chloe painted his name on it. Fifi watched and sat with us at his grave. Later that day I saw him in his box. He slept and slept. He slept like that for a long time. Then one day, a couple of months later, I went to see him and pet him and he was gone. I looked around and he was walking down the path. He began to leave his box more and more. He is still not the same as he used to be. He may never be. But he has a new routine and I’m a part of it. He doesn’t help with the chickens anymore, nor have I seen him climbing trees, yet. But he catches critters and helps with the gardening. He is learning to live again. We love Fifi.

Elizabeth Williams, daily writing exercise, 1,146 words.

Why I Wear Black

My life as I knew it stopped that day. It had changed two and a half years before, never to be the same again yet this day was different, it came to a stop. I started a batch of bread and got a load of wash into the washer. Then I dug out my suitcase from under the stairs. As I struggled to set my house in order I put things into the suitcase that I may need. I took a gym bag out of the closet as well and began to fill it with things for five year old Chloe. The bread rose on the counter and I hung clothes on the line. As I threw corn out for the chickens tears ran down my cheeks. Sometimes they flowed so heavily that I couldn’t see and had to blink many times to get my vision focused. I didn’t say any prayers but silently took care of the birds and gathered eggs and filled water buckets. There were babies in the brooder. I went in to care for them and sat on a box and really let the tears flow. I whispered and cooed to them. I sat there for awhile until the tears stopped. It won’t do for Chloe to see me this way. I don’t want her to be nervous, she loves adventures. I baked the bread and folded the laundry and finished packing. I replied to an email that I would be on my way very soon. I waited for Mark to get home from lunch and told him that I didn’t know when I would be home but that I was needed at the hospice. I thanked him for taking care of things for me and invited him to drive out to see us.

Four weeks later I laid my head on her casket in the cemetery, after the brief graveside service, and let the tears course down my face and run all over the beautiful box that held her forever. I did not restrain myself. I didn’t care. It was over in the worst possible way. My little Chloe was close by with family. My two girls Andrea and Joanna one on each side arms wrapped around me wept filled to the brim with grief. They wanted so badly to comfort me and said words but my soul was sinking deep into darkness and my bones were tired and weak. I stood up with them and we went home together as a family and I eventually went to bed.

Days passed by and one by one the relatives and children went home to their own lives to bear their own griefs and we were left alone. Mark, Chloe and I. I slept. I woke. I slept. I did things but mostly I slept and cried. I got up and dressed pretty, in blue and green and cooked and the tears came and came and came. So I went back to bed and slept. I got stuck in the middle of steps. Sometimes in the yard between the barn and the house. Sometimes in the house. I would stand not sure which way to turn or which step was next. I don’t know how long I would stand like that. I would stop in the middle of talking, not sure which word to say or which letter comes next. Then I would cry. We ate what was brought to us most days. I had frozen everything and would just take it out of the freezer and put it in the oven. It wasn’t too hard to do. I was numb. One day someone told me that I should try to move on.

I became angry. Anger filled me up. My anger frightened me. I was angry at Mark because he couldn't stop my anger. He is not a praying out loud kind of man but he put his hand on my head and prayed one day, so bad was my anger. I told him about my anger and I was open about it.

When Debbie was sick and I knew the end for her would be soon, I wondered how it would affect me. How could I know how it would be. I read in the Bible that Rachel wept and could not be comforted because her children were no more. I read that Jacob tore his clothes and would go to his grave in sorrow because his son was dead. I know with my head that there is a resurrection and that Debbie is resting with the Lord and her body will be restored in the triumphant day. But my soul is deep with the sorrow that my child could not live to see many days with her son, with her sisters and brother and nieces and nephews and all the good she could have had here. I would have rather been the one to go ahead. I should be.

I covered myself in black. I put away the colors and trifles and let a part of myself be with her. I found the strength to walk in a different way. I found my voice bit by bit. And I drove out the anger, thought by thought. I worked with my hands and stood on my feet. I surround myself with pictures of my children, all of them brave beyond words. I learned a new way to live, to be here in the present moment, to love and care.

Bit by bit the tiredness has gone away. I have begun to live again, but with a new determination. Those things I have always wanted to do but thought were trifling those are the things I do now. Like writing a thousand words a day. Cooking all our own food from wholesome ingredients is important to me now. If I don’t live this way now, then when will I. Reading everyday to Chloe is so important and sharing hopeful wonderful things with others is important as well.

It has been 3 years now and I am still wearing black and my hair is worn simply. I have begun to have courage to face this life again. I have let go of my anger, though I still don’t understand why she had to die. I am waking up and learning to walk.

There is no right or wrong in grief. There is no rhyme or reason. There are no words adequate. There is however a deepening and an expanding and enriching of compassion in those who know true love.

The above article is an example of one thousand words.  As a daily exercise I write one thousand words.