Category Archives: Memories

Your picture

You were my favorite subject.
No one could be more delighted 
Or more honestly surprised 
When I snapped a picture of you
Sitting in the sun, smiling, or
Pensive, always beautiful, my
Handsome man, my lovely
Model, always enjoying the 
Attention, the adoration I knew
You felt pouring from me to
You. I will never take a new
Photo of your serious face. My
Favorite subject. I delight now
At how many photos, portraits
I have. I can study you for hours
My favorite model, patient 
And willing, your photo alone or
With me. In a park, by the river,
At a baseball game or just at
Peace in the comfort of your
Big brown chair. My favorite 
Subject, I have these pictures
As a memento, memories 
That keep me company now.
Now I take pictures of all 
The places we visited together.
More memories, pictures I
Had taken often before.
Repetition is also memory.

important notes

It is important to document my thoughts. My memories have an even more important place. It’s important to remember.

We drove over the roads
Winding through small towns
Named long ago but unknown
To me, conjuring recollections
But still unfamiliar. We drove
Through towns, Amy and I,
Where I had been years ago,
Familiar to her in their autumn
Splendor. These had been the
Byways I drove years ago, we
Drove, my mother and I, our
Girls' trips, years ago, those
Last six months. We drove 
Through trees emerging in the
Springtime, a farewell tour. 
Today, I remember, I celebrate
It will not be for the last time.
We'll drive here again, Amy 
And I, and remember.

Joy / Sorrow

Grief mingles with light,
It imposes, pushing its
Way unbidden, just as 
Joy comes without an 
Invitation into sadness.
They are two of a kind,
Unlikely twins of a sort
On the path of feelings,
Emotions on a spectrum
Swinging pendulum-like,
With much less precision
As sorrow is tinged with
Happy memory, missing
Any nuance on the way,
As if it were not nuance 
Enough experiencing the
Extremes all at once, and
Jumbled altogether, a mix
Up, contradictory and odd.
I would have been wearing black,
In the traditions of a traditional 
Mourning, a widow decked head
To toe in the colors of loss. Months
Would pass like that, and my grief
Would be symbolized by my attire.
Without widow's weeds, the black
Of mourning is all on the inside, my
Inner self. Oh, nobody mourns all 
The time. I know that. I did not, I
Don't know, deserve the guilt I feel
For not being sad at this moment.
At every moment that passes, all
The moments in which I miss you,
Burt, but I am not mourning you 
All the time, full-time that is, I am 
But I am not sad as every moment
Passes, and I have all those great
Memories you gifted, you left me,
You bequeathed me. In them, I  
Miss you, but I am not sad, not in 
My widow's weeds as I might in 
The tradition of mourning have
Expected to be, I am remembering
You. I am remembering us.

Dear one,

My heart is constant
Even as the weather
Blows hot and cold, as
Moody as any feckless
Lover, changeable as
A young man's fancy 
In the spring, faithless
As it rummages in my
Wardrobe, tugging at
Wintry coverings one
Day, pulling out lighter
Garb the next, windy
Or ill-tempered, warm
And endearing on an
Afternoon with hope
And promises. I hold
Steadfast, unmoving
In the shifting storms,
My heart full of love
And memories

Grieving

There are so many words but
I have only used loss; I've only
Said "I'm mourning" or "I mourn"
I have said "I miss you" and I've
Mentioned that as I missed you,
You were also missing. I knew
You were lost and losing little
Bits of yourself over time which
I noticed you had lost. A whole
Concept, a man-made construct
Time was lost to you. This not
Being able to tell time caused 
A consternation. You did ask
After the time a lot. "What time
Is it?" A question that came at
Minutes apart. You wanted to
Know, to understand but you no
Longer had the sense of it. Time
Was already really irrelevant and
Lost. I knew I was grieving you 
[There I have said it.] I still had 
Little bits of you but I mourned,
Bereft of the partner who would
Know how to fix it. Whatever it
Might be. The companion who
Did things, set the clocks back 
Or forward, the lover who would
Recognize my feelings, the friend
Who would console when I was
Sad. I grieved alone. Sad alone. I rejoiced alone. You were here and we did laugh and chat together. Your chitchat could be so very Endearing. Now you are truly lost
To me but not lost in confusion   Lost. Gone. I can begin mourning 
Properly, my grief made real by
Your timely departure. You were
Able to pick your moment, time
Your passing perfectly. I have a
New concept of time now too, a
Time when a vibrant loving man 
Left me with memories, a time 
When that man, my man began 
His long fail into confusion, and
That time when I journeyed with
Him in sickness 'til death did us
Part and I was left bereft but with
Memories of his strength, of him.
Memories of his generosity and
His love and his care. I grieve his
Loss. I mourn your passing but
I rejoice in all our time together.
It was our time. We used it well.
Bereavement, grief, has its time
Now. Memories of all our time 
Fill my time now as I grieve you
And miss us. As I mourn our time

What we’ve seen

Observations, we've all made
Them, they're subtler than a
Whisper of disapproval or the
Mention of a disappointment.
Quiet thoughts, barely thought
Tucked away, secreted deep in
A dark corner of memory. You
Will know it as a fact. His mom
She was just like that, you will
Blurt it out, no malice, and no
Criticism, you resent neither
One of them for it's just how
They were, are in memory, and
In your observation. There's 
No whisper of discontent  on
Your mind, no disfavor to put
A pall over your thinking and
Hold you fast. And hard, in a
Strange place, booing ghosts.

Timing’s off

On rewind, it could be yesterday
Or maybe ten years past. The day
Might not matter or occur to you
As events recur, but for you there 
Is a certainty. What you remember
Is framed in time. Time past or is
It tomorrow? The future will happen 
Maybe as soon as today. Time is
Not a surety. It isn't fixed although
On rewind, yesterday is fixed, as
Steady as a rock or a remembrance.