The Uses of Sorrow by Mary Oliver
(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.


Man, I love that Mary Oliver. I recommend her highly.

The shock of my mom's death is dissipating somewhat. Grief is an odd bird. Lately I find myself being struck by moments of remembrance of being with my mom. Every now and then I forget that she isn't here anymore and I feel pretty weird. Even though I know she isn't here, I still can't quite wrap my mind around her physical absence. Remnants of her life are here, but I feel like she's missing.

I miss:
watching travel documentaries and snuggling against her side gently so as not to hurt her injured shoulder
her dreams of traveling all over the world
hugging her 5'0 frame and feeling tall!
seeing her cry from laughing so hard
her telling me how excited she is to one day have grandchildren and to provide free childcare!
her wonderful healing touch
a most radiant smile
her intellectual brilliance - I have been appalled at the breadth of her knowledge and expertise many, many times


I've gotten countless sympathy cards over the last few weeks. They have been wonderfully comforting. Everyone has a different way of expressing their sympathy. It's interesting that I am comforted by knowing people are praying for me and thinking of me when I do little praying myself. Some cards and letters tell me to take comfort in the fact that my mom is in heaven right now. I don't think that's where she is, and that doesn't really comfort me. I don't even know if she believed in heaven. I find such sayings as, "it was her time" or "she's with God now" to be shallow and trite. I understand that those things are comforting to lots of people, but I am not concerned about her being in heaven or hell. What I am concerned with is her life, not her death. Yes, she is dead and may or may not be in a heaven/hell that may or may not exist (yes, I guess I am agnostic). It never occurred to me that my mother IS somewhere. Physically speaking, she currently resides in an urn at the studio of a potter in Mars Hill, North Carolina. However, the philosophy major in me has to bring up questions of self-identity. Are we our minds, our bodies, our souls? Some combination? Or just one?

What does it mean when people tell me that my mom will always be with me? This statement is innately troubling to me, because I will feel her absence in place of her presence. I suppose that is a way of her being with me, reminding me that she was here once and would have wanted to be with me as I move on with my life.

I've realized lately that life is full of impermanence. I'm reminded of yet another poem (funny, I hated poetry all through school until just a couple years ago), this one by Robert Frost - "Nothing Gold Can Stay." I'm also reminded that in the grander scheme of things, we humans are a teensy blip in the history of the universe, and that we, too, will one day be gone.

I am about to go to my first and maybe only session of grief counseling with my dad. I'm pretty surrounded by counselor-type people in my life here in Asheville that I think I've been able to talk about a whole lot that's been on my mind lately. Writing this blog has been amazingly cathartic for me as well. I'll post again soon about the amazing graduation celebration that was put on for me yesterday!