Writing the sonnets helped me put a lifetime into a few lines of poetry and laid the foundation for writing my memoir. As I near the end of the first revision of my draft and prepare to send copies to beta readers, I decided to repost the last sonnet of the sequence because it expresses the hope I want my readers to experience when they read my story.
“Sonnet V-At Last I Stand Approved” illustrates my acceptance of my true worth.
After reading a short article about the importance of remembering Easter long after Resurrection Sunday, I decided to write a poem about my experience this Easter.
We are the Church and this Easter reflected that truth through the service of those who risk their lives to care for others.
The Covid-19 virus has upended everyone over the past few weeks. While the new normal creates havoc for nearly everyone, I’ve realized a hidden impact for trauma survivors. With each new restriction comes less control over my life, which triggers old fears and sometimes anger.
I wanted to change, but I felt powerless. How could I change and stop the pattern of behavior that was destroying me?
The loss of a loved one leaves words unsaid.
Writing provides one way to say what time and death did not allow.
I love you. Nothing will fill the hole in my heart. No one knows how much I loved you. I do not know if you realized how much I loved you. I am so sorry that I got annoyed at you. I hope u knew how much I loved you. I am talking to the air. I do not know how to do this, my luv. I do not know how to live without you. I will, I know, but now, I do not know how.
Asking “why?” became my bargaining tool. I cannot count the times I asked that question. I asked John in my letters to him. I asked God, but there was never a response. The result was many days of creating reasons that made sense to me and creating scenarios that would make the outcome different.
“I have cried more and more intensely than I have in years. I have realized that the deep sorrow of grief will not be pushed away forever. Oh I tried by letting it bubble out for brief moments thinking, “I can do this.” Short blasts of tears predict the eruption to come. Body tremors warn of the pain within. Fatigue warns that all is not well in the soul. Then the deep sorrow and anguish of grief erupts. The eruption will not stop until the depth of pain is released.
As I struggled to comprehend how God could love me, I struggled with an equally troubling question, “How could God love the family members who hurt me?”
Grief can be all-consuming. Sometimes we just need small moments of finding joy.
Fearfully and Wonderfully Made In this blog, I describe how I come face to face with my distorted self-image. I knew the truth, but still felt unlovable. One simple change altered who I saw when I looked in the mirror.
