grief – Page 7 – FEMININE COLLECTIVE

You Were No Accident

May 5, 2017September 18, 2018 Esther Vincent

For all those who died before their time, and to their families. i. I don’t know you but as I rushed from the bus to the station there was an unsettling emptiness and that’s when I noticed the tape and the tent – there was so much blood. You flowed Read more

Come Back to Me Lemon

April 30, 2017September 12, 2018 Sara Ohlin

Well, this is absolutely going to ruin my love of all things lemon, I thought as I held a lemon swab in my mom’s mouth for her. This seemingly benign, care-taking piece of her cancer meds pack. Fresh, sweet lemon scented the air for a moment, but for once in Read more

Strangled in the Dark

April 19, 2017September 13, 2019 Elizabeth Regen

Death puts you on the outside. It keeps you strangled in the dark… locked inside a room too small for your body. Death slaps duck tape over your mouth – 10 pieces of silver, dull duck tape over your mouth so that you can’t breathe and no one can hear Read more

A Widow’s Gift to Me

March 24, 2017September 14, 2018 Jacqueline Jules

In October of 1988, a neighbor of mine lost her husband in a freak car accident. I first heard the news in a conversation with my son’s teacher. “Did you hear about that accident the Friday night before Halloween? The most bizarre thing—a deer hit the car and went right Read more

Haunted

March 23, 2017March 24, 2017 Megan Garner

Haunted But not afraid. Watched But not wary. Stalked By a friend. I cry for you, Though we are divided By thoughts And voice And body. I cry for you Until I reach out with my mind– My soul–and hear you Your voice bright and determined, And LOUD, as you Read more

The Widow

March 16, 2017September 13, 2018 Victoria Addesso

Every early morning she leashes her old dog, walks down to and through the forest to the lake. She looks younger than her fifty-six years, although she feels older, or rather, as if she has lived far too long already. Her dog, an Aussie boy, a handsome black tri-color, walks Read more

Grief in Edinburgh

February 28, 2017May 10, 2017 Tabatha Stirling

Butterflies stopped visiting the meadow the year your light went out. Daffodils were joyless and sadness weighed down the Barn owl’s flight. The sun struggled to do it’s yellow best, the moon simmered in shock. One hundred fireworks refused to shower the night sky with color, rain was colder and Read more

A Mother’s Lessons Lead to Her Final Gift

February 19, 2017May 7, 2019 Mary Novaria

“I want to die.” It was hard to hear when my mother first said the words to me over the phone, but I understood why she felt that way. Besides robbing her of memory, that thief dementia had stolen my mom’s independence, dignity and ability to have an adult conversation. Read more