The Hardest Part

By: Artis Granville The hardest part is everything. Everything hurts the same. If I had to choose what hurts the most my dear, it’s you not being here for me to call you by name. For now, when I call your name my child it is in remembrance of you, For I refuse to let…

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Back to Normal

By: Ann-Marie Ferry When normal seems on its way And tears have now ceased When all the thoughts in my head  Have settled in a calm place  The flood gates open  Destroying my glimpse of peace When my mosaic heart is crumbling  And I can’t take a breath  When tears start in my throat  Burning…

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Blown Glass

My journey began as sand. Small grains that made up the very essence of my being.  Slowly and carefully the Artist worked, added, and toiled to create His work of art. Overtime I became molten glass, untouchable…A force to be reckoned with. A free spirit even the darkest of nights lusted to tame. The sands of time were worked…

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There Are No Words

By: Kathy Gardner I spot her at the grocery store Her son was killed in 9/11 She is tenderly picking out apples And I am scowling at green bananas I wonder if she has heard my news She answers me Simply by looking over her shoulder She must sense a familiar desperation She turns deliberately…

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The Art of Letting Go, Dear Tahlequah

By: Kathy Gardner it was 17 days and 1,000 miles of carrying love, of carrying her — days and miles that I and so many others have traveled, too. everyone else seems so relieved this heartbroken mother has finally let go, but we loss moms know it just looks like letting go. the journey of…

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We Are All Just Walking Each Other Home

By: Kathy Gardner the circle i find myself in now is small and narrow and sad i go round and round traveling with the other moms who have gouged their own eyes out, too the world has become too scary, too painful, too distorted to look at so we grab each others’ hands and lead…

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For Victor

By: David Varella Dear little baby Victor, Smaller than your brother, Prayed for by so many, Loved by Father and Mother. Never will I see your smile, Hold your hand on earth, Or hold you gently all the while The days after your birth. No longer will your body grow, Never will take a breath,…

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Flowers

By: Kathy Gardner Enough time has passed now and your flowers have become a source of discomfort for me. I take such care to pick them out to water them to trim their stems to arrange them to find the perfect ribbon and wrap them up And in those moments I am happy. bringing you…

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Killer White

By: Kathy Gardner When I think of you I think of color Perfect, tiny, pink colors. You were a perfect, tiny, pink baby whose weight I could barely feel on my chest– 2 lbs and 15 oz of hope, dashed away. I held you in my arms, stung by disbelief cradling the remnants of a…

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Why?

By: Kathy Gardner it is hard to answer grief. ‘how are you doing? can I bring you anything? are you hanging in there?” they seem like such gentle and hollow questions, when pitted against a mother’s horror– my daughter is less than a mile away but I will never smell her milky breath at 3…

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