AVELUT

Avelut is the traditional period of mourning within Judaism.
of course, not everyone observes it and certainly not everyone observes it in the same way.
Such is life, such is Judaism.

My period is up, over.
HOW CAN THIS BE??
11 months?
it has been a haven , a safe place, a comforting place, a place to go.
grief can reside there.
let me say it again: grief can reside there.
for all who have had a loss of a loved being ( person or pet or..)
grief must exist and co-exist for us to exist and keep on living.
Life is for the living. It's a cliche, for a reason.

reason of the season to rhyme and chime for all time.
eternal.

sending forth

the earth sends forth its babies
the young , green shoots
emerge from their snug, safe
winter refuge
affirming and reaffirming
life's cycle
life
cycles on and forward
moving in and out, through and
out.
Long , long winter
of cold and grief
plummeted to depths of
icy hardness.
now, ends of lips begin to curl
upwards,
as shoots reach upward
towards the sun
towards life.
The spring equinox is here
at long last.
after 9 months i bear fruit
and witness, to my loss.
I miss you Mommy.
Nine months to the day
you died
letting go into G-D's infinite bliss
and wisdom.
at the summer solstice we buried you,
here tis-vernal equinox
and I merge forward
loss into hope
void a constant companion
Brown, brittle twigs I rip out
I rake away
to find
green (spring)
love is constant, ever present
amidst dark winter
green was there
in the center of the universe
you'll always be there.

Sugar shaker snow

sugar shaker snow
empties from the sky
as landscape
of grief
loses its color.

Day after day
I'm in the yard
seeing the branches
as they've changed
through the seasons.

Now covered in white
what once held my pain is altered

You greet me
in your absence
loud and clear
ever present.
like the translucent blue sky.

Dreaming on A Couch

An ode to the missing Couch

The garage has more room now,
and now, you have no place to rest
your weary soul.
furniture-less.
No place for us to sit.
awaiting a fragile loss
you revel how young we look
but truly your eyes are just older
The fire of grief, starting to smolder
flowered cushions gone as fast as you were
taken from me while asleep
awoken to hear the morbid news.
not to surprise me, instead of breakfast: blues
I still try to remember,
the dream you drifted into,
on way to your couch in heaven.
-author: Solomon Botwick-Ries, age 15

BookEnds

It waits for me.
A spiraling tendril
a shroud
an envelope, a cloak

I make my way from daily tasks
into nighttime rituals
and there it is.
my grief.
patiently waiting to envelop
me with its familiarity
not a comfort, really
a new habit.

I find my way to a peaceful
sleeping place
only to awake
and it is there.

My grief waits for me
like bookends.

Erev ( evening of ) Homecoming

Clear as a bell
loud as a chime
my mother said:
you know what I want ,Jenn
it's now time."

"I want to go home"
amidst life that's large
in the hub of loving family
coming home.

Day so long
surreal, yet so clear
honoring you with
all my heart
I will always keep you near.

So rest, dear one
be at peace
sweet smile upon your face
you are coming home
to the family
in your chosen place.

It Takes Some Getting Used To

Just when I think I am going to write; perhaps something prolific, important and the opening line here after time away, the right thing, I pray; I lose momentum.
How does one start, after such a time as I have had?
You just start.
lao-tze, remember?

I am no longer a sandwich lady.
My upper crust, as it were, my raison d'etre over these past 14 months, has passed away.

My mother gave life her all, her tenacity apparent and very present until she stated her needs of "letting go, going home".

so home she went.
to the center of the hub, our living room:HOME.
There, surrounded by 3 grandsons, 2 dogs, one cat and loving daughter and son-in-law; Elsie Anne Davis Botwick let go.
her skin was radiant, her peace radiant.

I am crafting the incredible story for you to read here , as soon as I am rightly able.it has to be just so.

The hole in my heart, in the fabric of my life is enormous.
I half expect passersby to ask me what happened, after noticing my gash.

We all have gashes, mostly invisible.

Takes some getting used to.
this gash, this gap.