At least that's the advice a Creative Writing professor gave me a couple of years ago. Why? Because they've been done and done well by many and not-so-well by many, many others.

However, after my mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer and did not respond to treatment, I battled with grief and anger and writing was a good way to release both. Nothing new, I know. As the anniversary of the 3rd year of her passing nears, I find myself hurting more than ever. I miss her terribly. If ANYONE ever tells you it gets easier ... they're full of shit!

Here's a sampling of some of what I created during those last 11 months.

Grief

They came
whispering words
formed of letters.
Words strung together
in meaningless tiers
that rose up in
a tower of Babel.

And I ate
their words of grief
washing them
down with my tears
until I was filled and
bloated to the
point of sleep.

Only then did I escape.

Copyright Cher Cunningham, 2003

Lullaby2

The notes
of a well-known
lullaby spill from the
hidden speakers announcing a
new birth while your morphine
pump marks

time with
loud obscene clicks.

Copyright Cher Cunningham, 2003

I was SO angry when I wrote this one. I couldn't stand hearing that damn lullaby playing every time a new baby was born. It was too soon after learning the diagnosis.

Passage

I place a gray node of resin on the glowing
shard of charcoal and watch the white smoke
rising from the cauldron.

I softly chant a spell of protection
which rises on the smoke:

“Goddess hold her close and fill her
with your energy. Be ever near as
her time of passing comes.”

My love for her is strong.

Saturday morning I walked in, and my smile
quickly disappeared. She didn’t even see
me; partial vision is the result of the stroke.

Later that night I stroked the white fuzz willing
the pain to leave.

The miles home were marked with memories
and tears that wet my cheeks.

May I face my mother’s passing with grace.

Copyright Cher Cunningham, 2003

I'll never forget the pain in my heart when I realized that she didn't see me as I came into the room. God did it hurt.

Thanks for reading.

Cher

Here's my take: if people stopped writing about love and death, what kind of music would be left to listen to???

thanks for sharing your words, cher.

For sure. Thanks for reading and commenting.

Cher