Grief · My Thoughts · My Writing · poetry

Loss and Death: National Poetry Month Topics?

National Poetry Month - Loss

For so many years, poetry about loss and death has comforted the grief-stricken. So, this week for National Poetry Month, I’d like to look at that poetic topic.

On Thursday, I attended a Celebration of Life of a dear friend and saw the juxtaposition of joy and sorrow in real time. Poets have done that for years.

So that led me on Friday to select the poem, “When Death Comes” by Mary Oliver as the inspirational reading for my meditation group as I led it that day. My emotions still ran strong with attending yet another service for a loved one. As we get older, that seems to be the norm. And when I need consolation in poetry for strong emotions, I turn to Mary Oliver’s sensitive and powerful poetry.

When Death Comes

When death comes 
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles pox

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity,
wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

—Mary Oliver

https://www.loc.gov/programs/poetry-and-literature/poet-laureate/poet-laureate-projects/poetry-180/all-poems/item/poetry-180-102/when-death-comes

My Response to “When Death Comes”

In response to this poem and our meditation time together, I wrote the following haikus. Remember that a haiku is a three-line poem with 5 syllables in the first line, 7 in the second and 5 in the third. Traditionally the third line should hold some spice, some punch. That’s why in my fourth haiku below, I provide three choices. Which one do you like the best?

When death comes, I want

To be astonished with it!

To run—shout for joy!


When death comes, I will

See Jesus and run to him.

He will hold me close.


Finally, I will be

Home at last—where my heart is!

Familiar faces!


No longer do I

Fear death. It’s the gateway there.

  1. I know many there.
  2. It’s dying I fear.
  3. My heart has been there.

Other Mary Oliver poetry about death and grief:

  • Love Sorrow from Red Bird
  • Ocean from Red Bird
  • No Voyage from New and Selected Poems
  • After Her Death from Thirst
  • A Pretty Song from Thirst

Yes, the topics of poetry span all of life and death. In my book, A Time to Grow Up: A Daughter’s Grief Memoir, I address the loss of my parents in poetry, especially my mom.

Here’s one of my poems dealing with her death:

I Want You Back! Or Do I?

January 27, 2014

I stand at that mysterious wall 
between life and eternity
and scream,
"I want you back!"

I pound my fists.
I scream!
I cry,
but nothing changes.

You slipped
through my fingertips.

I grasped.

You were here one second
and
gone the next!

Nothing I could do
would hold you.

Where are you now?
Sitting next to Jesus and Dad—
smiling
youthful
relaxed
happy!

I hope so!

I am earth bound—
held in place
by time and
my human existence!

I now know more,
realize there's more.
There has to be!

A small peephole
opened into eternity
at your death bed.

Surprisingly, a small kernel of hope was
born that day for me.

Life ended here for you
so quickly!

Your shell of a body
lay limp and lifeless
in that hospital bed.
I saw your last breath,
but I also saw something else
slight
faint

Relief for you!
A passing
A knowing
that you are gone
from here,
but will wait for me
there.

In my solemn, desolate space,
I will still cry,
"I want you back!"

But today I know
that
I don't want you back—

I want to join you
there!

Larada Horner-Miller, A Time to Grow Up: A Daughter’s Grief Memoir, (Horner Publishing Company, 2017), 193-195


Life, death and everything in-between—poetry addresses it all and comforts the soul. If any of you feel sorrow or grief today, I hope these verses touched your heart and gave you some solace and relief!

Finally,

do you have a favorite poem that addresses loss and death? Grief? Sorrow? Let me know so I can add it to my list!


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family · Grief · My Books · My Thoughts

Has Your Mom Passed Away?

Me and Mom, Christmas 2011 - passed away

Has your mom passed away? Facing a Mother’s Day for the first or eleventh year without Mom? Does the holiday feel daunting? In 2017, I dealt with my mom’s death by writing this book, A Time to Grow Up: A Daughter’s Grief and Growth Memoir.

March 23, 2013

After Mom died, we stayed with her for a while—I just couldn’t leave her. I knew she was gone, that the shell of her worn-out body wasn’t her, but it was all I had to hold on to right now. I cried and cried. I circled the room and received hugs from everyone there, but I returned to Mom as though she drew me to her. I touched her wrinkled arthritic hands, the blue vein that stood out on the side of her face. People tried to console me, but it didn’t help.

I sat across the room from Mom, trying to take it all in, but again I stood up and walked to her side. Again, I had to connect with her. I touched her soft, familiar face, her worn-out hands—a lifeless corpse now. I knew that vivacious, lovely lady was gone.

In a stupor, I called family and friends to let them know—I felt like a robot conveying my sad message. I was in shock and doing what needed to be done. That’s what I always do.

It’s funny how small specific items become the focus at a time like this. I wanted to make sure that I had Mom’s false teeth with me. She had a thing about people seeing her without them. I knew she would be viewed at the funeral home, and she had to have her false teeth.

I queried the nurses about the location of the false teeth; I focused on this driving issue; it was paramount now. I found out they had them and would give them to the ambulance driver who moved Mom’s body to the funeral home in Trinidad, Colorado. I relinquished the strong need to personally have them with me.

We finalized details about her transport to Trinidad, and I kept putting off the inevitable—leaving Mom at the hospital. My dear family understood my need to stay, to touch her and to cry, but it was time.

Leaving Mom there alone was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. I had to walk away and leave her body there. She had been my sole focus for the last three months, a major focus for the last seventeen years since Dad passed away, my dear friend, my first play- mate, and the woman who carried me! How could I walk away now?

I felt hollow walking through the hallway and diverted my eyes to not make eye contact with any of the dear nursing staff that had cared for Mom. Resolutely, I entered the elevator and solemnly rode down- stairs. My feet felt like concrete blocks as I trekked out of the hospital. When we got outside, the sun blinded me—how could it keep shining?

People passed us, laughing and carrying on like nothing had happened. I barely stopped myself from screaming, “Shut up. My mom died. Please be quiet. Please respect my pain.” With Lin on one side of me and Bub on the other, they directed me down the sidewalk to our car.

The three of us drove home in silence, occasionally interrupted by my whimpers. My niece Connie and her three children gathered their belongings at a nearby motel, drove to our house, and spent the night. Our cousin Lisa also joined us for the evening.

It was a tearful, sad evening with my family surrounding me.

Because it was a Saturday night, we watched Mom’s favorite country and western shows on RFD-TV. Bub sat by himself in a rocker near me. I sat next to Lin on our love seat. The rest sat on the sofa or on the floor nearby.

A favorite song came up on the TV show, and Bub jumped up sobbing, grabbed me, and directed me to the kitchen where we danced, each of us leaning into each other, sobbing. What a poignant moment that was—our parents raised us to be dancers. So, what did we do in our pain? Dance and cry in each other’s arms!

I cried myself to sleep that night, with Lin holding me in his arms —a routine that we repeated every night afterwards for months.

Larada Horner-Miller, A Time to Grow Up: A Daughter’s Grief and Growth Memoir, (Horner Publishing Company, 2017), 63-65.

No Words Now

May 11, 2013

Mom died March 23, 2013 
No words
No poems
until May 2.

Lost in the pain
drowning
suffocating
Words frozen
gone
void

All I had was pain!
Loud
screeching
screaming pain.

Normally, poetry is my respite
My sanctuary
I visit to
understand this world

Nothing there!
Only the deep, dark hole
The consuming loss
The utter defeat

Missing Mom
and
trying to live!

Larada Horner-Miller, A Time to Grow Up: A Daughter’s Grief and Growth Memoir, (Horner Publishing Company, 2017), 77-78.

As I mourned, grief led me down unusual paths for healing. My guide for this process was poetry. It gushed out of me after May 11, 2013, about six weeks after Mom passed away. I didn’t publish this book until 2017 though because it took time to process and heal and grow.

If you’re missing your mom this Mother’s Day season, my book might be a healing balm—to walk through my grief with me and arrive at some healing.

I have the e-book available on a special Mother’s Day special for FREE for five days—May 8 – 12 on Amazon.

If you would like an autographed paperback copy, it is on sale for 25% off at my two online stores for a limited time:

I took the time I needed to heal! I hope you will do the same! When our moms pass away, it’s a life-changing event!


Hair on Fire Audiobook cover - passed awa

Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Christmas Memoir available in audiobook format at the following places:


Enjoy my interview on the podcast, The Writing Table


family · My Thoughts

A Mother-in-Law? Two I Cherished!

During my life, I have not had the stereotypical mother-in-law. My two precious mothers-in-law have blessed me. My first, Lucy Prichard, became my spiritual mother, and my last one, Betty Daunt, healed not only my spirit but my body and soul. This tribute focuses on Betty because she died a couple of weeks ago.

I just attended the memorial service for Betty Daunt last Tuesday, January 18, 2022. I cried deeply that day, knowing I had such profound grief. At the service, one of her daughters hugged me, crying and said, “Mom thought of you like a daughter.” I knew that to be true, and I cried.

How Betty Affected Me

In 1993, I became deathly ill and doctors couldn’t explain what was wrong. After returning home after a ten-day stay in the hospital, Betty offered to do a weekly massage with no charge and I saw my brother-in-law’s partner for weekly acupuncture appointments. I left the hospital not able to go to the bathroom; after one week of these dual appointments I could go. Betty continued the weekly massages for months until I got on my feet again. I continued receiving massages from her for almost thirty years.

I divorced Betty’s son in 1994 and continued to see Betty monthly because she was my massage therapist. She handled the divorce admirably, seldom ever mentioning her son to me. And I continued to think of her as my mother-in-law. Because we had been close before the divorce, we kept up our relationship with my massage appointment and many dinners out and evenings at Popejoy Theater.

Betty filled every time out with her with lots of laughter and joy. I still hear her infectious giggle, which truly was a titter.

But Betty went beyond fun. She touched me deeply and respected my body in her massages, bringing new life to the wounded areas, especially focusing on the hurt little girl’s pain I had carried for my lifetime.

Massage by my mother-in-law

When she massaged me, I got to the point when Betty flipped me over on my stomach, I fell sleep, a deep renewing sleep and only woke when she finished.

Foot massage by my mother-in-law

Early in her treating me, I memorized all of her movements and areas she concentrated on—and yelped like a wounded pup when she did foot reflexology on my feet and hit one of my sensitive sinus points. Betty used a pencil to touch the various points on my feet, and I swore she dug into those areas until I watched her treat my ex-husband’s feet. She did not.

After every massage, Betty served me a cup of water and encouraged me to go home and not touch my computer. She knew I worked overtime on my computer.

With her hilarious sense of humor, Betty trained me to jiggle my breasts to avoid breast cancer. During each massage, she’d ask, “Have you jiggled her breasts today?” I laughed and promised her I had!

After Mom died in 2013, Betty consoled. She spent an hour before my treatment holding me and crying with me over my major loss. She loved my parents and enjoyed her trips to Branson, Colorado, and to our ranch. My favorite memory of her there: as Dad drove out of the canyon up a steep four-wheel-drive trail, Betty dove to the floor and said when we topped out, “Next time, I’m going to walk!”

During my massage and any time we were together, Betty shared her spiritual path and wisdom. She invited me to attend a conference in 1992 for Alternative Healers. We saw Deepak Chopra and Wayne Dyer. What a day that was for both of us, and we often talked about the influence that day had on our spiritual paths.

A few years ago, Betty stopped doing massages, and I tried other massage therapists, but they didn’t compare. I haven’t had a massage in a couple years, and interestingly, I’ve had major sinus and stomach issues since. I wonder???

Betty always challenged me in all my thinking about self-care and repeated each time as we grow older, we need to stretch daily. Then she would ask if I did. She stayed on top of my health in all ways.

For our last time together, I joined Betty and her daughter at Betty’s grandson’s baseball game in the spring of 2021. We laughed and caught up on each other’s lives. What a wonderful time we had together. After that, we only talked on the phone.

As I ponder Betty’s influence on me over the last thirty years, I realize how big it was—much bigger than a mother-in-law relationship. Because of her, I thought outside of the Western medical world and sought massage and acupuncture. I took herbs and additives she suggested. I witnessed a devote Catholic woman who spoke freely of her beliefs and her willingness to embrace a wide spiritual path.

Finally, I have spoken mostly about my mother-in-law, Betty Daunt. Lucy Prichard touched my life deeply too, but I needed to honor the place Betty played in my life. Thank you, Betty, for your deep love of life, health and me!


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Coronavirus · My Thoughts

Poetic View: The Future As I Saw It in April

What does the future hold for us? Here it is nearing the end of May, and I want to share two poems I wrote at the beginning of April, more than a month ago. Not a lot has changed. The death count continues to increase daily with it nearing 100,000 in the United States.

My world & the future?

In the midst of this pandemic, people’s reactions shock me! One person posted on my Facebook page that this virus isn’t dangerous. Tell that to the families mourning 99,031 deaths. Tell that to the world whose losses stand today at 345,554 at 2:00 pm this sunny Sunday afternoon. I shudder at this callous response to this tragedy—it is dangerous and heartbreaking! Today, I choose empathy and compassion for the losses, for the pain, for the struggle, and I continue to wonder about our collective future.

In my circle of family and friends, I know someone who was diagnosed with Covid 19 ten weeks ago and is still experiencing symptoms. So some say it’s just like the flu? I’ve never had a flu that lasted that long.

My first poem contemplated the new post-coronavirus future.

Are Masks a Part of the Future?
Are Masks a Part of the Future?
What Do We Face?

April 1, 2020
 
The future always felt
            Predictable!
Not now!
            Not post-coronavirus pandemic,
                        Not after the deaths
                                    The insanity
                                                The world in turmoil!
 
What’s coming?
            Social distancing
                        ‘til April 30
 
More cases
            More deaths!
                        100,000’s dead?
                        1,000,000’s sick?
 
The uncertainty
            No one knows
                        For sure
                                    But why?
 
Our tech age believed
            We could control
                        Order
                                   Orchestrate the world!
 
But no!
            Here we stand frozen
                                    Paralyzed
                                               Isolated
 
2020—
            with all its advances
                        can’t contain
                                    this small
                                                tiny
                                                            enemy
It controls us!
 
The USA
            Ill-prepared
                        So sad,
                                    But so true!
 
Trump, a part of the problem
            Yes,
                        But China lied!
 
Would he have acted differently
            If he knew the truth?
                        Not 81,000 deaths in China
                                    But possibly forty times that amount!
                                                3,240,000
                                                            Oh, my God!
We will never know.
 
Where are we headed?
            Done and recovered 
                                    At the end of April?
                                                May?
                                                            September?
 
I haven’t even a thought
            About our financial losses
                        Not in the wake of the deaths
                                               The sickness and trauma
                                                            The despair!
 
We’re all in the same boat
            Headed somewhere,
                        Destination unknown
 
God, help us!
LaLa Land vs. reality for the future
Living in LaLa Land

My second poem did a reality check. Reality—different to different people? I’ve struggled with reality my whole life, wanting to live in a LaLa Land of my own making, but adulthood forced me out of that imaginary land into the territory of the REAL The coronavirus catapulted me farther—into a stark face-to-face encounter with reality.

Reality Check

April 2, 2020
 
The sun keeps shining
            The world spins
                        Night follows day.
 
On the surface
            Normal is constant.
 
Yet the massive choirs
            Of heartbroken cries resound
                        Across the plains
                                     Down through the valleys
                                                 Atop the mountains
                                                                Through the deserts
 
Human kind is under attack
            A virus war zone!
People die
            The number mounts!
 
Doesn’t matter his color
                                   Her Ethnicity
                                                His Religion
                                                                No immunity!
 
The coronavirus kills
            Has no prejudices
                        Is not judicious in its target
 
The massive grief grows
            The weight of the pain stresses
                        This world to its limit
 
A mother
            A father
                        A Daughter
                                    Die alone
                                                Not a hand to hold
                                                            No last kiss and hug!
 
And it’s not just the virus’ victims
            But anyone unlucky enough
                        To die now
                                    Like my dear friend, Jan Steel
 
Karen, Joan, and Julian stood vigilant
            Outside Jan’s door
                        No kiss
                                    No touch
                                                No hug
                                                            Only death!
 
Hearts break in unison
            Too many to count—
                        Exponential pain multiplied
                                    By this devastation!
 
Yet the sun rises
            Days melt into weeks
                        Pain from this horror lingers
                                    Forever
                                                An acrid taste in my mouth
                                                            And
                                                                        Heart!

You may wonder why I keep posting my poems. I struggled so through this pandemic and recorded it. I wonder if you relate to my cares and concerns. Let me know.


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~Whitey & Gladys Puerling, playful friends of Flippo’s, created a Fan Club. I thought it would be fun to recreate this group. Would you like to join the Marshall Flippo Fan Club Facebook page? Read interesting posts about Flippo’s life. https://www.facebook.com/groups/328325644382769/