the dream of a garden memorial

I dreamt that I walked in soft green grass,
the whisper of wind in the trees.
The flowers all nodded their sweet hello
as they welcomed the buzzing of bees.

I dreamt of a tree whose leaves unfurled
and gathered my sorrow within
And took it from me and gave me instead
peace and innocent comfort again.

The sun touched my hair in gentle warmth
while the breeze brushed my cheek so soft
Now lightened inside, my heart once more whole
No more burdened by such grief and loss.

I stood and I turned to leave that place
with its sweet peace and timeless lore
Understanding again, she is not here
I will see her in heaven once more.



~ A true dream, written the morning after the death of fellow Luther Seminary Classmate and DL Cohort 4 member, Rebeccah Whitlock  September 11, 2014.  

Waiting... hoping...

Grief.  Death.  Loss.
They do funny things.
Twisted things.

I sit here with my grief in my lap,
rocking it.
I do not want to hold it,
I want to let it go.
But if I let it go, will I have let them go too?

It feels like this,
this bit of nothing,
whole of everything,
is all I have left of them
at this moment.

My soul is calmly watching.
Listening, humming.
Her knitting needles are gently
clicking, tapping, winding,
as she knits a prayer covering
that never seems to end.
She knows this too shall pass,
That all is well, really.

But my spirit- it is wounded.
She looks like a rag left in the street,
dull, tattered, useless and unattractive
in its disrepair and overuse.
Run over and over, it lies there.
Waiting.  Hoping.
But too tired to do anything.

And my mind, well it goes places.
It remembers last breaths.
It remembers smiles and love.
It wonders what it is like
when our soul leaves here.
It twists and turns and wonders,
wonderful, gruesome, morbid things.
Beautiful, sad, poignant things.