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Posts Tagged ‘grief’

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I saw him from my window
playing in the silty river sand
tossing tiny stones into the water.

 

He laughed making faces at the wind
teasing the cold rain with claps
of his own homemade thunder.

 

I thought of joining him then
because I was alone…
and I needed what he had.

 

I watched him from my back steps
as he traced words with a stick
in the remains of yesterday’s flood.

 

His back bent with sorrow
his eyes burned red from a deep
loss I remembered as my own.

 

Gently I reached out to him then
because he was alone…
and he needed what I had.

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Day 17 of National Poetry Month – a Triversen Poem

Words and Image by Cicely Robin Laing © 2017

 

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In My Dreams by Cicely Robin Laing

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In my dreams…

I watched them play…

Up on the hill top, on a windy day…

There was no sorrow…

There was no loss…

Just a kite to fly, and a ball to toss…

Happy laughter…

The sound of running feet…

Inside this memory there was joy to meet…

The rustle of wind…

And the crack of thunder…

Spoiled my sweet feel of slumber…

Now, awake…

Beneath these layers I lay…

Wishing for the break of day…

To shed the thoughts…

And hide the tears…

Of missing you these many years…

In my dreams…

I get to play…

With you… on a hill top… far away…

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Words and image by Cicely Robin Laing © 2015

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CicelyRobinLaing©2014

I was thinking of my father today. Being Father’s Day only made it more poignant. My dad was a wonderful, intelligent, kind and flawed man. His flaws I have learned to see as I have grown older and maybe more judgmental. But I cherish all those flaws, just as I cherish his perfections. It is the flaws that challenge me to be who I am today. A perfect father would make a poor and unsupportable role model. One can not hope to achieve perfection, but with love, flaws can become endearments and points of improvement.

I love my father. I miss him so terribly much. I don’t really look much like him. The mirror brings no remembrance. I yearned to hear his voice, and so when little touches of similarity come out of the mouths of strangers, I am visited by emotions of love and loss. I wish I could see the twinkle of laughter that used to light his eyes, instead I look to spread a bit of cheer to friends. Imagining how much pleasure that would have given him.

Decades have passed since I last held his hand, walked side by side in comfortable silence, or conversed over silly mundane things. I am a sentimental soul. He was not so much. I still have a coat he wore. I stole it from him as a teen, and wore it to art school when I left home. He was there with me, hugging me, held inside the warm, wool herringbone weight of unfashionable attire. I still have that coat. Three decades have left it tattered and worn, but I would never part with it by choice.

There is one thing, one thing that I do, that is a gift from my father. I wear hats. In the late 70’s, no one wore hats like the one I took from his closet. It was a fedora, narrow brimmed, like a “Mad Men” era cliche’. It made me feel different is a way indescribable. I was a child growing into a young adult. I wanted to be my own person. I was full of contradictions. I was setting myself apart from my peers, but I was also, playing a little bit at being my dad. That part felt safe. I wore his hat, I didn’t ask him if I could, but he didn’t mind. I kept the hat and wore it as I grew. I never noticed how it fit until one day…

My dad said with a laugh, “The hat’s too small.”

Yes, with my full head of hair, it barely stayed on. I didn’t care in the least. To me it was perfection.

Eventually, as most children do, I grew up and apart. I also grew to find and wear my own hat. One that fit me better than his. It was still a fedora, wider brimmed, a little larger of course. But, really, when I wear it, I am still wearing my father’s hat. It is as if he were still with me. He shades me, keeps the rain off me, he gives me character in a crowd. He would laugh at me to hear me say such things. He would shake his head, and point out, “You are your own person. I was only privileged to get to know you and be a part of your life.”

He would be right of course, but like the hat that is too small, that idea doesn’t fit.  I am who I am because I knew him… I only wish I had known him longer. Then we could have worn hats together…

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Happy Father’s Day….. I miss you Dad!

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Day 15 of  “Face Lines… and Story Lines”

Words and Image by Cicely Robin Laing©2014

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CicelyRobinLaing©2014

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I am thinking and remembering…

My heart is full, my mind quiet…

I wish you had not gone…

I wish you had stayed…

But that is not the way the world works…

So I honor you…

I pretend to be strong…

Because you were…

I say pretty words and sing soulful songs…

Because that is what is needed…

But I would rather hear your laugh…

I would rather feel your touch…

I would rather stop the world so I could look into your eyes one more time…

But I can’t…

So… I remember… and I love… and I always will…

Because my love for you is the one thing that can never be taken away…

… ever!

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For everyone who knows what Memorial Day is really for and feels it in their hearts… Bless you!

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CicelyRobinLaing©2014

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Sadness Bites….

This Bite is for my little friend Yoshi… who left us behind on this mortal coil… way before anyone was ready for it. She was truly a special, elegant soul, in the form of a cat…. and  I miss her.

I hope you won’t judge me for being so emotional… I have had many friends and family of the non-human variety. I have loved them all… feline, canine, feathered, cold-blooded and wild…. I came to adore each one for the individual personalities they were. I have always felt honored and humbled when they chose to love me back. Like all relationships… some grew stronger and deeper than others.

Bonds like that can catch you by surprise. They come to fit into your life like a perfectly snug piece in your life’s puzzle. And when they are gone…….. that empty space never fills in again. You learn to deal with the emptiness… but it never goes away.

Respect all life… Love all life… you never know which creature will fit into that puzzle picture that is the soul you are….

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We are not in charge of who we love or who loves us… we are only in charge of being open to being loved.

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CicelyRobinLaing©2012

Yoshi looking out on the world… taking in the smells of Spring through the screen door…

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