Star burst & heart break


My beloved Dad/Father/Friend has passed away. His physical form is gone.

And I’m truly grieving for the first time, despite knowing loss previously in my close family.

Today (Sunday) was the day…

The day that you think you’re good. You’ve been back to work. You’ve made it the whole week. It’s been good to be busy.

It’s Sunday morning. You’re getting the coffee going. You think to yourself you should call your dad. And then you realise he’s gone. You’re not going to be able to make that call ever again.


You rein it in. You go about your day.

The evening has arrived. Your partner is in bed. You’re cleaning the kitchen. That was your primary childhood chore. It hits you. A wave…a Tsunami… It’s… a… fucking. Tsunami…

Such… GRIEF.

Gone too soon. So much left undone. Sooooo much left undiscussed.


And yet there’s light…


The sun was out.

You’ve gone back to work.

You’ve been helping the family and friends. You’ve been supporting the process. He’d be proud. How he’d feel under the fucking circumstances is poor consolation.

I’m mad!

He should have taken better care of his health.


That said, or perhaps more accurately expressed… I’m happy he lived happy and died himself.

Though I recognise him as imperfect… I wouldn’t change him. I wouldn’t trade what I had for more years with a different version of him.

And there’s something about peace with that tradeoff that makes the heartbreak all the more ferocious.

And it makes me so fucking mad.



I know…

I’ll make it through.

I’m so grateful for him and how he made me… me. I’m grateful for the many years I had with him and the many I may have ahead without him. Despite knowing those years ahead now include missing him. Forever. Or at least my version of that word.

Here’s to the sunshine ahead and the bright lights who got us here and played a irrevocable role in making us who we are. We are all imperfect. Our species, our circumstances… imperfect. Yet there’s a cosmic poetry playing out before our very eyes. Here’s to those who taught us to see the light, whether it be in a dark night sky or the beautiful blue of day.

Poetry is Heightened Speech

On the footsteps of my post regarding “show don’t tell” I’m now thinking about another truism for the novice writer. It’s short, sweet and therefore easy to remember, expressed here via the Whims iPhone app.

Your poem should sound like natural, yet notable, speech. If it’s a clunky string of adjectives you’ve still got revising to do. As with all good advice, it’s easier to give than to follow, but I’m thoroughly enjoying the effort and the WRIT 100 journey.