Are we filled with mourning, filled with grief
When branches release their last brown leaf
Are we filled with anguish, filled with woe
When the sun melts the last cindered snow

Seasons are a blended transition
“One day”s coming into fruition
And so is this life into the next
Letting go, while clutching to our chest
Like a dainty rose held too tightly
Watching the soft petals fall lightly
What we know, clouded by what we feel
So why does this goodbye seem so real

Are we filled with mourning, filled with grief
When the branches bud their first green leaf
Are we filled with anguish, filled with woe
When the sun brings songs of the sparrow

This is not the end, but your rebirth
Disappearing seed into the earth
Promised beauty after the stillness
Remaining joy despite the illness
We pull you close as we let you go
Goodnight kiss and, “See you tomorrow”
What we know, clouded by what we feel
So why do goodbyes feel so real

As I took a trip down memory lane
I thought I’d write you a letter
It’s a letter in your memory
One I’ll carry with me forever

It was Valentine’s Day 2011
The story of your new life begins
I wandered through the shelter aisles
I was looking for a special friend

Several people passed you by
And at first, I did too
But you wouldn’t stop crying in your cage
Begging me to pick you

I remember your big hazel eyes
And your gigantic ears
And the big red bow tied around your neck
And how your face was stained with tears

I knew from that moment you were the one
And you were the one every day after
You were sick and you were scared
But you still managed to bring me laughter

Those few years went by so fast
They were almost a blur to me
We went to the park, you learned new tricks
And sometimes you struggled to breathe

Your heart slowly began to give way
But you still put up a fight
Every moment was a precious gift
During your final year of life

But the time had come, you could fight no more
I tried everything to keep you alive
It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done
But I had to say goodbye

An empty basket sat in the car beside me
The night I left the vet’s
I only had your collar in my hand
And I came home to your empty bed

I miss you every day of my life
But there are days I miss you more
You were my very first baby boy
The one I loved and adored

But you are not suffering anymore
You are running wild and free
Over the rainbow bridge
And watching over me

Okay, maybe you’re not really watching me
It’s just my silly dreams
I’ve been holding onto your memory
Since September 2019

You looked back for a moment
It was time for you to fly
Over the rainbow bridge
Our final goodbye

You could’ve been anyone’s dog
But I’m so glad that you were mine
I’ll miss you forever
My Valentine

Yes, I’ll miss you forever
Eight years just wasn’t enough time

Dear Grandma Moore,

It is hard to believe you have been gone since 2013! It feels like it was yesterday
as the words of my poetry echoed over your ashes in Kansas. I cried many tears reading my speech at your celebration of life at my parent’s church, I felt such a hole in my heart longing for more time. When I was asked to write a letter to the person who was gone that I admired most it wasn’t a hard task at all! Grandma Moore, you always taught me so much. Most importantly you were always there for me and everyone else. I admired how you listened, your encouraging words, compassion, and smile that made anyone feel at ease. You loved being a grandma, especially spoiling your grandchildren (most of all with your time and great cooking). As a child there are so many memories of when we stayed at your house, went out to eat, shopped a little, told stories, played at the park, and played board games. Our family gathered at your house for football games during the football season. It was an exciting time with cousins there as well. No grandmother could yell at the tv as loud as you grandma when those Redskins were not playing well! I loved listening to stories of my grandfather who I had never met. Even though he died before I was born I felt like I knew him anyway. It is probably the way you lit up when you talked about him! You said that he would always be your only true love. I remember being so inspired by how you lived by yourself all those years and went to work after losing your husband: naturally falling into the independent fierce woman role! Grandma, you could put a beautiful vase of flowers together. The magic poured out of those fingertips. You loved working at the flower shop. You taught me that faith is important as well as your church community. You always helped out church members, taking them to get groceries or to eat. Your heart was as pure as they come! You were a wife, amazing mom, grandma, and friend. It showed in everything you did that family came first. As I became an adult and had a family of my own; I tried to live by many of your core values. My dad is a lot like you! Family, church, and friends are his biggest priorities as well. So thank you for teaching my dad what’s important, inspiring everyone around you as they watched how you lived your life and all the lives you touched! Sending my thoughts up to heaven with love!

Love,
Your biggest fan

Lyndsey

Dear Daughter,
The day I lost you what is one of the hardest days I’ve experienced in this lifetime. I felt a piece of my soul guy that goes. My first baby and my first real loss.
When people try to console me are making me feel better angered me because they said the stupidest things.
“Maybe she wasn’t meant to be here.“ “Maybe God knew you couldn’t handle two babies; focus on one.”
Those Hurt the worst.
They were trying to cheer me up, but those words hardened My heart. How could they be so heartless?
For the time you were here you were meant to be. You were meant to experience love for 12 days now it’s been 13 years since you’ve been gone my love for you has only grown in that time. People may have forgotten, but I haven’t. I haven’t forgotten how awesome you were sometimes I catch a glimpse of who you are through your sister. The first time I got to hold in touch you was the day that you died. It felt so good to Hold you. The night the hospital called to tell me you were ready to leave the Earth, I felt I wanted to go with you. I am grateful you stayed long enough for me to say goodbye when I got to hold you, You were so warm And I felt so much love and also your labored breathing.
As you took your last breath, I begged for you to stay. To my surprise, you open your eyes, just enough for me to see their beauty and smiled at me. Then you weren’t breathing anymore. That image of you smiling in my arms is the greatest gift ever given to me. It stayed on your face, even after You went to God. Thank you for letting me be your mom. It was an honor and privilege. I will always cherish it and the memories of you. Do you remember our favorite book? I Quote the best parts each time I think of you to relieve the loneliness.
Keep shining in heaven until we meet again. I love you. Thank you for visiting My dreams letting me know you are happy. I love that for you. I will carry you in my heart always and continue to be my best self that Your existence encouraged me to be.
Love mommy

In Memory’s Embrace

When I was but a tender age of eight,
A shadow cloaked my world in sudden night,
My father’s love, a beacon strong and great,
Extinguished, leaving echoes of his light.

His memory, a whisper in my ear,
A guiding star through life’s uncharted seas,
Yet losing him was pain so sharp, so near,
A wound that time would never fully ease.

I longed to join him, time and time again,
To close my eyes and feel his warm embrace,
But life went on, with joy and grief and pain,
And I, alone, continued in this race.

Through darkened days, through trials hard and foul,
I faced a world that often seemed unjust,
Assaulted by the shadows, feeling small,
Yet in my heart, his wisdom was my trust.

I’d sit and play his favorite songs, just so,
To feel his presence, close and real once more,
Afraid that as the years would ebb and flow,
His face, his voice, would fade and be no more.

But age has brought a clarity, a grace,
His lessons etched in every act I take,
He taught me cooking’s magic and its place,
A way to heal, to love, to mend, to make.

In every dish, I feel his gentle hand,
In every meal, his spirit comes alive,
Through every challenge, firm I take my stand,
For from his strength, my own resolve derives.

Independent, strong, and full of fire,
He taught me skills to navigate life’s sea,
To channel hurt into a heart’s desire,
To find my peace, my joy, my destiny.

Though gone, he lives within my every breath,
A memory that time cannot erase,
In kitchen’s warmth, I honor him in death,
His love, his life, my everlasting grace.

It’s been 54 days, and the moments pass like wildfire–
breath fanning the flames of this remembrance.
I wonder where you are today,
what form you’ve chosen to watch over me from.
Sip of coffee brings you near–soft, silken reunion.

I wish you were here this morning.
I wish we were here, together, watching the butterflies dance to the symphony of birds, lingering in stillness, together.
I wish we had more chances to linger in stillness,
to witness each other in presence, inviting curiosity to our hearts.
Another sip of coffee and I hear a laugh from deep within my bones,
realizing that this moment and that wish are one in the same.
Here, in this house with you,
here, drinking coffee with you,
here, reminiscing on all the memories that will only be made with you as fleeting space–
it’s been 54 days.

It’s been 54 days and I remember it like it was yesterday–
it was a text message.
Eyes on screen when shock consumed me,
I was not expecting the numbness.
And when the tears came they rained waterfalls–strong, and beautiful,
the roar of water on rock thundered from my belly–
You were there.

I felt you like I have never felt you before–
hand on shoulder,
consuming caress,
you were peace.
And joy, and freedom–
I could feel my spirit dancing with your own,
beckoning laughter to fall from the heavens–
a kind of comfort I could have never dreamed of.

You were right when you said you would be there.
You are still right–
for in the deepest moments of grief, you are always there.
Always here, holding the space for my emotions to run wild,
feeling them as your own,
I hear ‘thank you. this is your gift’
And at that, my heart breaks open a little bit more,
I feel you find your way into its cracks–
you are welcome here anytime.

It’s been 54 days,
and the moments of feeling you this close are fewer and farther between, already.
I’m sorry for that.
Your laugh comes through my cheeks and this time it is me saying thank you–
because it is moments like these that keep me going.
Moments like these that are etched into my heart, carved deep into my mind,
new memories in the making.
And it is this and you and the fleeting nature of existence that will live on as the inspiration to live again.
To live fully alive in as many moments as humanly possible,
to cherish this body that grants us pleasure and pain and longing and grief–
that allows us to know the nostalgia of brewing coffee in the morning
and stacked rocks.

It’s been 54 days of knowing you in your fullness.
Each day that passes, an opportunity to meet you as the All That Is.
And I remind myself that this includes equally the magic and the mundane–
that there is nothing that is separate from that which you have returned to.
And I am learning to find comfort in this, though some days are harder to remember than others.

But it’s okay.
It’s okay to forget sometimes,
because You are the ocean–
carrying timeless reminders like clockwork.

So I’ll sit at water’s edge,
stack rocks like memories–
and let cycles of time and tide
strip numbers from the days.

BeeBee
The night of January 27, 2012 is the night that everything changed. What do you do when glue of the family is gone? When the person that keeps a family together is suddenly just gone. A family that is already scattered in different places from Wisconsin to Ohio to Pittsburgh and more. A family that didn’t get the chance to say a proper goodbye to you.
My grandma’s name was Beatrice but we all called her BeeBee. A nickname that came long before I was born. My grandma on dad’s side died all alone in her house on Friday the 27th of 2012. I will never forget that night. The phone rang during dinner. It was one of her neighbors asking for dad saying she hasn’t seen BeeBee in a few days and mail was piling up. A feeling of dread came over all of us knowing something was seriously wrong. We all suspected the worst but no one said anything out loud till dad called confirming what we already knew. Dad found her lying on the kitchen floor after falling and hitting her head on the kitchen counter.
BeeBee was the glue that kept dad’s scattered family together. From coming to Pittsburgh for visits, to taking family beach vacations, to birthday parties and getting together every Thanksgiving at my aunt’s house in Cleveland Ohio. But after she passed away and us grandkids got older the only time it seems when all of us get together now is when cousin gets married or getting together with a few family members whenever my one uncle comes to Pittsburgh for work.
My grandma BeeBee was a very prim and proper person. She always had her hair in a bun with a bow keeping her hair perfectly in place and wearing pearl earrings. Called food that was bad for you or sweet or fatty “poison” that will kill you. She loved knowledge, reading and learning new things. She was always encouraging us grandkids to read, to constantly questions, be curious and learn new things whenever possible. So today she is a big reason for my love of reading and keeping an open mind to new experiences.

Dear Dad,

The Sunday before you died, I had this feeling in my chest. I was sitting outside working on my capstone paper and planning my video presentation of it. It was the last month of the semester and I was finally about to graduate with my Bachelors in English. I remember sitting there and there was this moment when I thought of you and I felt it in my chest. I thought it was just you crossing my mind and because we had had a falling out, I didn’t automatically pick up my phone and call you this time. Instead, I decided I would get this project out of the way and then call you to hash things out and move forward. I submitted that paper and presentation on Monday night, planning to call you Tuesday. Only, when I woke up that Tuesday morning, I had a missed call from Nana. That’s when we learned you were in the hospital and had had a heart attack on Sunday evening, right around when I had that feeling in my chest. By the time we made it there, you were gone. I didn’t get to say goodbye or I love you or I’m sorry or I forgive you. I didn’t get to say any of it because I thought we had more time. I thought we still had a chance to work things out. I thought wrong. We would never get to forgive and forget in this lifetime and I will live with the fact for the rest of my life that I didn’t speak to you for a while before you died. We had our struggles, like everyone, but in the midst of my first experience with grief after Granddaddy died, I found anger as my most readily available emotion. I wish I hadn’t been so quick to get so mad. I’m not saying I didn’t have a right to be upset, but all the grief I was feeling went into that anger and I reacted stronger than I should have. If there’s one thing I wish I could change, it’s that. It’s that I wish I could have seen through my sadness and those huge, unfamiliar feelings to understand how limited we are when it comes to time, how close we can be to doing something and still be too late, how much you can regret holding onto something for too long. I’ve learned a lot in the time since, but the lesson that stemmed from that guilt and regret is the biggest by far and will stay with me forever. If I had learned that lesson a little earlier, I might have had a chance to restore our relationship before you died. I might have had a chance to talk to you, not in anger or annoyance, before it was the last time we spoke. While that is something I’ll forever wish I could change, your death taught me what’s truly important and it was the hardest lesson I’ve ever had to learn — don’t assume you still have time, because you truly never know when everything will end.

I miss you Dad.

Love, Bean

I pinned the card up on the bottom right-hand corner of the bulletin board – the spot where my eyes rest every time I put something in the compost bin (that you convinced me to get.) You are smiling, surrounded by your girls in a place you love. But those of us who know you best see the sadness wrapped around you. You were mourning. And now so are we.
One day, maybe I won’t ask myself the same question every time I look at that picture. I won’t wonder how it is that you will never be here, in my kitchen, with us again. I won’t think about how the last time you were here, we had no idea it would be the last time; how two weeks later, the assumption that we would grow old together shattered along with your girls’ worlds.
That day, I told my husband – your best friend, “I’ve got this. I’ve lost a best friend before.” But I didn’t. Not at all. At first, I tried to figure out why. Was it because she was sick, so we knew it was coming? Or because she had no children and every time I look at yours my mind spins through all that is to come; all the things they will do without you by their sides. Maybe it’s because I never thought I’d have another best friend like the one I lost, and then I met your wife.
As we were exchanging introductions in our daughters’ 2-year-old classroom, my friend was in a hospital bed 200 miles away, a machine breathing for her while she planned her funeral. It was a time thick with 18 years’ worth of memories, making it impossible to focus on the here and now. Even if I had, I doubt it would have occurred to me that this pregnant redhead and her husband would feature in my most important memories to come.
Parties and playdates. Beach trips and baseball games. Black tie galas and backyard barbecues. Out on your boat and in at my dining room table (the one that you broke, producing my favorite dinner party story of all time!) It didn’t matter where we were or what we were doing, when the four of us were together, it was the best time. And we weren’t done. We had plans. Boy did we.
Now we have 20 years’ worth of memories and questions without answers. We have brave smiles and inboxes filled with messages asking how your family is doing; and how we are doing. Sometimes I hear you. I wonder if you hear me when I talk to you, which I do every day. I tell you what I can’t tell your girls – how useless I feel in the face of their tremendous loss.
I solve problems. It’s what I do in my professional life. It’s what I do in my personal life. I take in a set of facts, process them, and offer up solutions. It’s why my clients hire me. It’s why I’m a trusted confidante for my friends. It’s who I am. And it means nothing in the face of this.
I cannot solve for your absence. No solution will make it easier. There is no playbook to tell me how to navigate this uselessness.
You know I can hear you laughing at me, right? I can see you shaking your head, that half-grin that means you’re deciding whether you should say what you’re thinking. That look that reminds me that I am making things more complicated than they need to be.
“He made people feel seen,” I told your wife.
I am not alone in that assessment. It is a sentiment repeated over and over by people who knew you in different ways and at different times. It’s the little things, like filling my wine glass that I didn’t even know was empty and teasing me like the sister you never had. It’s the big things, like loving my children like your own and my husband like a brother. It’s showing up even when you cannot ease the pain or mend the broken heart.
Sometimes there is no plan to show you how to move forward because everything that forward once meant is no longer there. And it’s in those moments when we can do nothing more than let people feel seen, when we have nothing more to offer than our presence, that people understand how much we love them. I just wish it didn’t take your absence to make that so clear.
We love you, my friend, and we’ll take good care of those girls of yours even when it means just sitting with them in the darkness.