Marigold Path Grid Blog: That was Then

Image designed by Adam Walker Cleveland

 

When my sons were younger, each year on November 1, we would walk an old graveyard, read the tombstones, talk about loss, talk about life, speak of honoring the dead, and their lives, and remembering.  It was my attempt to honor the Day of the Dead, and to acknowledge death and grief as a part of the human condition. But in their young lives, the loss had been death of a marriage, not death of a person. Almost three years ago, my sons' father, my first husband, died. The visits to the graveyards on November 1 ended. The grief has been ambivalent and anger full. Difficult and releasing. Ice cold and fiery hot.

These bits have been posted before, when I think of his death, and the struggle toward grief, these are what come to mind.

 

violence and fragrance

“What is the image of your anger toward him? What would you like to do to your ex- husband?” She asked me as we walked through the crisp autumn air, fragrant with dying leaves and dying light. 

“I would place him on a desert island, by himself, with unlimited supplies of pornography and cocaine and leave him alone.” I finally answered as we reached the cottage. 

Five years later, L received the call from my first husbands fourth wife. “He’s dead. That is all we know”, my spouse told me as he relayed the news.  Tears surprised us both.

Three short months later, the death certificate in my hand, the violence of spring bursting outside my door, the words – “cause of death, accidental overdose of cocaine and alcohol. Body was found dressed in a white t-shirt and socks only.” 

Originally published here.

 

Poem from a 12 year old, who is now 14

What drugs mean to me.

The illusion of happiness
The line of broken lives
Souls that are sold for a few grams of powder
Mangled hopes and dreams
Lives that are not lives
A need for acceptance
Cold despair
The crying of children
Caskets and still graves
Broken families
The dullness of pain
Minds that are tampered with
The silent tears of family
The ache of wounding
Sadness and desperation
The falling tears of the lost
What drugs mean to me

Originally Published here.

Read more of the Marigold Path Grid Blog here

Read more on Day of the Dead here

 

Comments

[Kristin]

I'm moved by these fragments. These are painful and honest and raw. Thank you for helping us see see the truth of death and grief and anger in these ways.

[ben]

Powerful. I can't believe its almost been three years since he died. Deeply soulfull words from your boy.

I haven't been here in a while. Loved the pictures of your men.

Happy belated birthday. I'm 45 today. Did you know I moved to Warrensburg, MO just east of KC a ways?

Blessings to you.