Tag Archives: Grief

Sometimes. . .


Sometimes, I just want to write about the political.  Be it the politics of motherhood and the war on women, or the politics of a fourth estate gone missing, or even just the politics of a two-party system and a presidential election. Sometimes, when I start these pieces, I am so angry by the fourth paragraph, I can barely get my words out coherently (oh and this one too).

Sometimes, I just want to write about how sad I still am. How I hate father’s day, and May. But instead, I just stopped writing for six weeks. Read the rest of this entry

Something to Run to.


When I ran my first race, I was fifteen years old.  It was at HK High School on their indoor track, a track that measured just 100 meters. I ran around it ten times for a total of 1000 meters.  I don’t remember where I placed. Fifth maybe- my lungs burned, my legs were all weak when I was done. I had used all I had to get through that race.  When I was done, my coach grabbed my shoulders and said, “you did good Tara B. You did good”. Read the rest of this entry

I’ll make a list


I will dig my way out of this gray.  This semi-comatose feeling, this get under the covers and hope the night is long wish – I will count my blessings.

I will list off the people who care, and love, who make cookies for me, or accept my baked goods. I will list off the students who pay attention, and listen, who read, and ask questions, I will even mention the ones who just pretend, in order to coax a smile from my the corner of my face. I will think about how high school basketball games represent all that is good and right with teamwork, and sportsmanship, and fandom.

I will revel in the fact that I have enough attention lately to consume books in great big chunks. And poetry, nearly absorbing it through my fingertips, the rate I read. And bless the music that I play over and over again, haunting little melodies that say all the sentences I wish I had finished out-loud.

I will thank the coffee bean for what can be derived inside. sweet brew of waking warmth. And the snow that covered everything the last two nights a quiet buffer between the harried noises of the world.  Settling everything down before spring comes raining in.

And there is the heart of mine that aches – no matter what I throw on it to end the pain. I thank the world for this too.  Heart that feels too much, takes too much in, beating flesh that loves so fiercely and breaks so easily – must remember to count that off too. Beat by beat,  breath by breath,  the sanguine life it pumps through me – delivering all I need to get out from under the gray, and the covers, and the long dark nights.

Last year


There is no way today won’t suck.

      But Tara how can you start the day thinking with such negativity.?

Sorry – but it’s been a year since a stroke took my father’s life.  Yes, yes, he lived in the ICU for 27 days after – but this does not change the fact that  a year ago today,  a little blood vessel burst, and the hemorrhagic stroke that followed, took his life away.

-Took all the power from the left side of his body – caused his breathing to go off kilter, caused him to aspirate.  The aspiration meant intubation, the intubation lead to pneumonia.

Pneumonia didn’t let the brain heal.  And when the brain can’t heal – system after system begins to fail.  There were kidney problems and rejected blood transfusions, central lines collapsing, and a fever that just wouldn’t go away.

Today. It’s been a year today. Since my father woke up, and like every other Sunday went off to breakfast with his wife’s family.  That Sunday, my mother happened to have my sons staying with her. And she called to see, if Pops wanted to see them.  And that morning they all ended up at breakfast together.  That’s what I cling to.

Every time I get stuck in some endless loop of the ICU – like a movie I can’t stop re-watching -every time I can only see his trach, and the IVs, and the monitors, and the ice packs–  That’s when I think his last morning was spent with my sons-  eating their pancakes together, crawling over  his lap- calling him PopPop. And I think- even though we hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks, there was part of me with him that morning.

That night, my brother would zip my father into his fleece, get him ready for the ambulance, as the stroke pulled the life force from him. That night, I would watch LifeStar  fly my father into the hospital as we headed south on Rt. 91.  That night, everything would change. Everything.

And I haven’t been the same since, and I never will be again.  And today – as much as I count my blessings, and my friends, and my family – as much as I count each individual ray of sunlight — today, today is just going to suck.

a completely random and assorted list of the crap I am thinking about right now

  • I am getting another tattoo.  Yes it has been 16 years since the last one. Yes, I might have to realize that I am no longer 19. But no, I don’t care.

Imbolc*. . . and the shadows I am fighting. . .


I have been wallowing in dark places, and leaning towards other things. I have gathered ammunition, and shot it at only those I love the most.

I have had the worst year a person could imagine, with brightness in spots like you would not even believe. I have dithered with insomnia, Read the rest of this entry

In the middle of –


In the middle of everything when Kai is making little snack sized sandwiches with his pepperoni and his cheese and his crackers-  When the radio is playing, just four songs apart, both the songs I had chosen for the DVD I made to play at the funeral home.  When the Giants beat the Pats, when it seemed that they just couldn’t.  When I am cooking your chili just as you would have, except, I put way too much cayenne pepper  on the steak I am browning.  It was in the middle of all those moments, when it was as if you were just off to the side, nearly present, like stuck in the shimmer of the transporter beams we used to spend Saturday nights watching together.  It is in those moments, the ones where you’re almost here – but just not, that I miss you something terrible. Because I can almost hear your giant laugh, almost feel your giant bear hug, but only almost, and it’s not nearly enough.

Bat out of Hell


This is the song we should have played at the end of the memorial service. This, one of my father’s favorite songs, from one of his favorite artists.  (Ha, Meatloaf, artist you say?) So much his favorite he took my brother, step-mother and I to a Meatloaf concert in 1993. No, no, I’m not kidding.  Instead it, the whole album, was lying right under my thumb on the five dollar table at the local sidewalk sales. In my car, listening as loud as I can with the windows rolled down, just as he would have, stuck between laughing hysterically and crying my eyes out.