Writing and journaling are creative and healing
processes which allow us to explore feelings, capture memories, describe important events, and collect and connect the wide range emotion that accompany grief. Writing connects us to others. Reading about the experiences
of others can be confirming, validating, soothing and inspiring. Reading
opens new channels for thought and understanding. Grief and Renewal
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experiencing grief and/or helping the bereaved.
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NEW! POETRY ARCHIVES: these poems have been featured on Grief and Renewal
by Marjorie Campell
The breeze blows bubbles through the air,
Shimmering globes of Joy.
My progeny giggles and grabs what she’s made,
Better than any toy.
Such innocence, my little one—
No burdens weigh her down.
She seems to float just like those spheres,
Above the danger zone.
So young, the day our bubble burst,
She never even cried.
You can’t miss what you don’t recall,
Can’t feel that ache inside.
Or so I thought until one day
She told the handyman,
“I love you, Mark.” I asked her why.
She asked, “Is he my Dad?”
Can we buy a new Daddy? Somewhere there must be
A Mommy and baby who’ve died
The way that my Daddy was taken from me,
A Daddy like us who has cried.
I’ll ask all my friends, Mommy. Surely there’s one
Who’s willing to give hers to me.
Please Mommy tell me that this isn’t all.
Again we’ll be not two, but three.
I was widowed at age 33 when my daughter was a week shy of being 18 mo. old. My husband and I were married for 5½ years. It has been 4 years since he died, and I am facilitating a widow/widower support group now. I have learned so much about myself through this experience and despite the sadness it has brought, it has made me a better, stronger person. I have made friends I never would have met had I not been widowed. I am a geriatric social worker and also my daughter’s girl scout leader, so I keep very busy. --Marjorie Campbell, LSW
by Marjorie Campell
A worn and weathered statue
Stands stoic to his left.
Still numb to all the family hugs,
Friends’ words just leave her deaf.
A toddler walks oblivious
Right past the bride and groom
Who kept their vows, however short,
That end now in this room.
A soulmate lost forever,
A daddy gone too soon.
A child who won’t remember
The man who hung the moon.
A wife without a husband,
A Mom without a Dad.
Just a half and not a whole
Remembering what they had.
No more cards for Mothers’ Day,
Her mate’s words meant the most.
That pride they shared between them now
She shares it with a ghost.
So much for dreams of growing old
And sharing 60 years
Of arguing and making up,
Of laughter and of tears.
Oh what she’d give for one more time
To have him lying there
Upon the couch while grass grew high
And he had not a care.
Credit cards and mortgages
Would have to step aside
If only she had one more day
With him there by her side.
But, no such luck, for as it was
She buried him that June.
“Until we part by death,” she swore,
But never dreamed so soon.
by Marjorie Campell
The Sandman’s arms envelope me;
I board that astral plane.
We soar to Heaven, piercing clouds
And showering in the rain.
Far down below the barking starts,
My midnight love affair
Cut short by earthly turbulence.
I plummet through the air.
Just hours ago another flight
Met with a kindred fate.
That unbeknownst to me this night
Took my earthly mate.
Silver badges, hats in hand;
I open up the door.
No witness shortage there will be
To my most private horror.
I’m silent, head cocked to the side
I look around and see
One familiar face;
Between our eyes, telepathy.
Suddenly, it all makes sense
And to the floor I fall.
I curse him and that plane of his.
The neighbors hear it all.
Search and rescue on their way,
My eyes play tug of war.
Surely this is just a dream.
Open them some more.
Back in her room my angel stirs,
The Sandman strokes her hair.
He sure looks like her Daddy
As he takes off in the air.
He soars to Heaven, piercing clouds
And showering in the rain,
While she and I plunge helplessly
Out of that Sandman’s plane.
Where My Husband Dwells
by Marjorie Campell
In my dreams you smile at me;
Your curling lips so soft
Lift me up beyond this earth
To your seraphic loft.
While she and I yet struggle here
Upon this mortal plane
I see the home you’ve made for us.
I cry both joy and pain.
In days when you were here with me
I welcomed your embrace
But turned from His so sure that I
Had never seen His face.
Even on the day our love,
Personified, was born,
I blindly saw your pointed chin,
My eyes and nothing more.
Today I feel those arms so tight
And can’t deny the truth;
For I have seen forever.
I’ll be spending it with you.
I watch you dance with winged ones
And my heart dances too
To have at last the knowledge of
Such love surrounding you.
I listen to their songs of praise
And places I know well.
I look at them and proudly say,
“That’s where my husband dwells.”
RAPED BY DEATH
by Cathy Narvaez
In Memory of Caroline Narvaez Moon
January 10, 1968 - July 8, 2004
DEATH FORCED ITSELF UPON ME
IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
DESPITE MY SAYING “NO”
IT TOOK A PART OF MY LIFE
DEATH LEFT ME BROKEN AND EMPTY
CRYING OUT IN PAIN
THERE WAS NOTHING I COULD DO
EXCEPT PRAY FOR IT TO END
I WILL RECOVER FROM THIS BRUTAL ATTACK
DEATH WILL LOSE ITS STING
FAITH GIVES ME HOPE
THAT I WILL LIVE AGAIN
My sister died in a car accident and in my grieving I searched for support for adult siblings and found that very little exists. It is my hope to change that. Siblings are the "forgotten" mourners yet they have the most complex relationship than anyone else. My life focus now has become grief support. I invite anyone who would like to, to contact me at email@example.com. My thoughts and prayers go out to everyone. Thank you.
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