NaPoWriMo 2017, Day 10 (skipped some)

Passacaglia

I still make inside jokes with you
even though you don't get them
strings wavering

The moon is a bright tired thing
everybody thinks they own
night buzzes along

Salt water was your favorite
so cleansing, the passages
crisp folds marked

Hold the bow lightly
technique finally perfected
doors fly open

NaPoWriMo 2017, Day 3

The Ultimate Confessional Poem, Take One

 “Grief is a world you walk through skinned, unshelled”
 --Ariel Levy

I hear the noise of my own voice:

Prince, you’re a prince. A dog a man

in the commonplaces of the asylum. 

All’s misalliance.

Far-fetched, tenacious, captious: fan
in that narrow diary of my mind,
The ultimate American,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot

Yet why not say what happened?

There is enough here to please a nation. 

As sure as God made Granny Smith.
The trees have more than I to spare.

Strange, not to wish one's wishes onward. Strange,
and fasten a new skin around it.

Let me study the cardiovascular tissue, 

Ich, ich, ich, ich

My dear, it was a moment

I have to nudge myself to stare. 

The garden's garter snake

who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.  

Outside of us the village cars followed

Then told my parents, analyst,   

If it's been good, be glad it's been.

Neither you there, nor coming. Heavy change!

collage/crowdsourced from John Berryman, Robert Lowell, Sylvia Plath, Ann Sexton, W.D. Snodgrass, and George Starbuck

NaPoWriMo 2017 Day 2

The Duration

The East River looks frozen, choked
eddies pulling in oppositions.
Cumulocirrus skies leak blue in spots.

You are not waiting at home
as you were so long, long ago,
solid point 'round which my currents churned.

Picking my way through stepped-on
frozen slush, I push my heart rate,
building stamina for the long haul.

How much longer?
How many more miles without a you
or any other you?

Families pass on the promenade. The men
have all married younger wives.
The women are plush and beautiful,
their lips open delicately when kissed.

I have not forgotten how I had
to teach you softness, the relaxed tongue,
the release that made you squirm.

Spring is so late this year
we may never thaw again. Hard
to believe, harder to bend not break.

Rilke is my litany

The place we rip open again and again

that always heals—that’s God.

We are all sharp-edged from our need

to know; He is spread out, serene.

Even the pure and blessed libations

He takes into His world in just

one way: by staying motionless,

never controlling the way things turn out.

Only the dead drink

from that spring that we can hear,

when the god signals to them, silently.

Just the noise of it reaches us.

And the lamb begs for its bell

out of its quieter instinct.

 Sonnets to Orpheus, Part II, #16

Rainer Maria Rilke

Trans. David Young

bOB always remembered

Bob's birthday is today. He would be 47, or as he always put it (to his younger siblings), "entering his 48th year." In some ways, it's good that his birthday is near Father's Day--we sort of "get it over with," feel all the heaviness and hardness around the same time. Which is not to say it doesn't pop up on a regular basis at other times, but this has been a tough week. Fortunately, Bobby, Stella, and I are surrounded with love.

Photos from 2010: Bob and Bobby on Memorial Day Weekend at one of Bob's favorite places, the Pompanuck Farm Institute. And with Stella in Chicago, spring break, reflected in a mirrored sculpture.

happy spring!

For the first time in years (and the first time ever for the kids), we spent Easter in Ohio. I had forgotten how beautiful our family home on the Pike is in springtime--the new green leaves and grass, the bird sounds, the flowering dogwood outside my bedroom window. And the sun shone every day, for at least part of the time.

It is truly a time of renewal after the long dark winter. Wishing joy and new life to all!

interdependence day

A poet friend of mine posted on Facebook today that his partner is participating in an Interdependence Day Parade at a Buddhist retreat in the Bay Area. Simultaneously, in my search for wisdom on a personal issue, I found a quote from Buddhist monk and author Thich Nhat Hanh:

 ...[I]f you take good care of yourself, you help everyone. You stop being a source of suffering to the world, and you become a reservoir of joy and freshness. Here and there are people who know how to take good care of themselves, who live joyfully and happily. They are our strongest support. Everything they do, they do for everyone. (qtd. in Why Talking Is Not Enough: 8 Loving Actions That Will Transform Your Marriage by Susan Page)

I definitely need to work on taking care of myself, and I know that a spiritual practice is part of that. In her book where I found the quote, Page describes what she calls "Spiritual Leadership," part of her concept of "Spiritual Partnership," and explains how one person becoming a "spiritual leader" can transform a relationship. One of her principles is that, when you are feeling dissatisfaction or disappointment with a partner, you should shift your focal point from them and your relationship to your own spiritual path. She quotes Thomas Moore: "Slight shifts in imagination have more impact on living than major efforts at change."

I confess that I have felt very much "out of touch" spiritually since Bob's death. Where before I often felt the presence of a positive force, a loving Spirit that provided guidance and lifted me up when I was down, I now find it hard to connect with that energy. I hope that will change soon.

remembering bOB

Yesterday was your birthday. Today is Father's Day. Missing you terribly. And trying to deal with it the only way I know how: writing.

Father’s Day

for R.E.B. III, 6/18/65 to 8/30/10

The blue pen flows, the gospel radio brays.

This day is different from all other days.

No mass, no kaddish, everything's been said.

We’ll plant a young tree with the kids instead,

right near the playground. Now we say Amen.

It’s bluegrass now. A love we shared. I met

my fiddle hero at that festival,

your gig. He died just two years later: old,

a lifelong smoker. You were forty-five,

ate vegetarian and rode your bike.

Six-two, one hundred sixty pounds of brawn.

I wonder if they’ll miss me when I’m gone—

the dobro twangs, the banjo taunts my ear,

the upright bass is—well, upright. Too clear.

grief for kids

"The grieving process is different for children," asserts this article. The piece is about a support group for bereaved kids, which sounds similar to the one that I have been taking Bobby to at The Center for Hope at the Cohen Children's Medical Center.

The group has helped him a lot--perhaps the most important thing is to be around other kids who have lost a parent or other close family member, to make them all feel less alone, less different. The kids get into small groups by age to do crafts and other activities designed to help them process their loss. Meanwhile, the parents meet in one big circle and learn about the kids' activities, and talk about how they can help their kids (and, often, themselves) through it. At the end, the kids come back into the "big room" and we celebrate birthdays and sing a special song written just for the Center.

The kids have been having some trouble sleeping some nights of late--not as easy to get to sleep, and waking up in the middle of the night or early morning. I'm looking into some grief-related services for children with special needs, so that I can get some support for Stella, too.

my creative brain ?

Needless to say, when you are recovering from a trauma it messes with your mind. In my honors class, Creative Imagination: Theory and Process, we study some of the research about the brain and how it's used while you're making art, solving a problem or coming up with innovative ideas. Our main text for the past few times I've taught it is Nancy Andreasen's The Creative Brain, which is a readable, manageable little paperback that digests some of the theories of creativity over the centuries, and presents the author's own research in neuroscience. We also look at a number of "case studies" of creative achievers in the arts, sciences, and business--from Michelangelo and Leonardo to Maurice Sendak and Maya Angelou.

I'm so grateful to be teaching this class right now--as usual, I feel that it's benefitting the teacher at least as much as the students. It's been two years since it was offered, and this semester I've been discovering some new publications on the subject. Not only do they give some important information (including new research in the social sciences), but I am finding them helpful to me on a personal level, as I struggle to try to write (always a struggle, but now more than usual).

One of the topics we focus on is what I used to term "Creativity and Mental Illness." Andreasen has a chapter called "Genius and Insanity," and the link between the artistic ability or exceptional intellect and psychiatric disorders has been oft-debated. After reading the introduction to Ruth Richards's Everyday Creativity and New Views of Human Nature, I was very encouraged: Richard and colleagues have found in their research that the exercise of creativity (including writing, art-making, and other activities) can actually alleviate some of the symptoms of disorders like bipolar and depression.

Meanwhile, I was in the middle of Heather Sellers' amazing new memoir, You Don't Look Like Anyone I Know, which is about Heather's recovery of and from a difficult childhood, and the discovery that she has a rare neurological condition called prosopagnosia ("face-blindness"). Heather has been one of my favorite writers for a long time, and her books Page After Page and Chapter After Chapter are lifelines for me when I need to pull myself out of the waters of procrastination and writers' block. In the memoir, Heather describes reading about schizophrenia (which she suspects her mother has been suffering from), and discovers that some of the uses of language that are "symptoms" of the disease sound a lot like things she tries to get her creative writing students to do! It's a fine line....

I was also thrilled to see that interviews with creative people who have been on Studio 360 (one of my favorite radio shows)  have been compiled in Spark: How Creativity Works. When my copy arrived from Amazon I stayed up much later than I should have because I couldn't stop reading it!

By far the most exciting of the new "creativity handbooks," though is Your Creative Brain: Seven Steps to Maximize Imagination, Productivity, and Innovation in Your Life. The author, Shelley Carson, has taken all of the research I've seen here and there and framed it in a usable, practicable, even "fun" way. I'm determined to read it cover to cover ASAP and put it into practice in my life!

"the process"

This illustration depicts pretty accurately what I've been going through. Frankly, I'm getting tired of it. I want to feel better, or at least not as terrible as I do much of the time.

I'm tired of it interrupting my concentration. I'm tired of having an addled brain, faulty memory, glitches in thought, little irritations blowing up randomly into something that feels bigger, vast, huge, threatening to swallow me and everyone who comes within striking range.

I'm tired of feeling inadequate as a mother, of struggling to figure out how the hell to help my children deal with this. And alone, all alone as a parent.

Truth: No One will ever love these kids the way Bob did.
Truth: I am only one person.

So what? I do what I have to do. I was not prepared to be the parent of a child with a disability. One day I wasn't, and then the next, I was. And just had to deal as best I could. In the same way, I have to learn to deal with this, too. Play the dealt hand. Sigh.


A few weeks ago,I got into a routine, long abandoned, of reading and writing a little before bed. I like to use these Mead composition books with leathery-looking cardboard covers, different deep colors. Currently, my notebook is sort of an oxblood or maroon. Anyway, one night I was writing, writing about a tough situation I was going through, and then all of a sudden it wasn't about that situation anymore. It was about Bob. I went to my gmail and did a search through old emails from Bob.

Two of the messages in particular jumped out at me. The first was from March 09, when I asked for some reassurance in the wake of some emotional turmoil or other:

if you can learn to really love yourself well, that is without harsh judgements, without expectations, without shoulds, and without conditions, then you won't need validation from a 'partner' and therefore you will be in a better place to let go of prospects that aren't quite right or what you want ....  

It was uncanny how directly this spoke to exactly what I was feeling at that moment. It was, in fact, exactly what I needed to hear.

The other one was from a little over a year ago:

I do care about you and love you - that will never change until I die.

Truth: Bob would tell me, "It'll pass." He'd remind me, "your thoughts are not reality."  He certainly wouldn't want me to feel like a failure.

"You're beautiful," he'd say. "Brilliant." "You're a badass." (many of his friends and loved ones heard that.) "A great mom." That was nice, and I could almost believe it when he said it (which he did, regularly, even after we had separated).  


Now, I have to say it--and so many other things--to myself. And, more importantly, to believe them. Which was exactly what Bob wanted all along.

"how are you?"

Cartoon by Cathy Thorne

I love this cartoon, because it captures a situation that is all too much part of my current reality. When people ask this question, do they really want the answer? I know that people truly are concerned--about me, about the kids--and sincerely do want to know how we are doing. But most of the time, I am stumped for what to say. So I just say, "OK." I can't really come out with "Fine," or certainly not "Great!"

It's been five months now since Our Devastating Loss. The shock has worn off, and we are in a new phase--reality hits, and it hits hard. My feelings are complicated, of course, by the emotional impact of the three-year separation that preceded this tragedy. Sometimes I feel as if I'm going through the split all over again--and others I feel as if it never happened. Not sure which is worse--it's all mixed up with the incredible love I have for our children, the crushing weight of being their sole surviving parent, and the daunting task of shepherding them through these fields while dealing with my own healing process.

I have found myself taken over by grief at odd moments--on the subway, in the ladies' room of an Irish pub in Washington, DC, during yoga class. According to friends who have been through similar situations, this is par for the course. And it's unclear how long it will go on--being sideswiped and swept into a crying jag, right there in public. It's terribly inconvenient, and extremely undignified. But it is what it is.

So, dear readers, please don't worry about us. We are OK, and we have a lot of support. But yes, I do need help, and I don't always feel comfortable asking. In the immediate wake of loss, helpers are everywhere, but after a little while, everyone moves on--or maybe just thinks of us, wishing there was something they could do. There is! Help clean my house (please). Play games with Stella while I make supper or grade my online classes. Play Wii or XBox games with Bobby (I'm just not a gamer). Stay with the kids for an hour or two so I can do laundry, take a run, or go outside to make some private phoe calls. Take them to the movies, bowling, something fun that I may not have the energy for. Hang out with me some evening while I put the kids to bed, and have a glass of wine (or two) with me after they're asleep.

Or just tell me I'm doing a good job keeping this all together (even if I'm really not). Don't ever think you are bothering me--I appreciate your concern, and I know it comes from a good place. I wish I had better news to report, but it will improve, I know,  all in good time...

sisyphean

• parent-teacher conferences
• forms, endless, endless forms to fill out
• take kids to get blood/urine samples for their physicals (which happened over a month ago)
• bobby home sick two days
• stella half day tuesday
• both kids off thursday for veteran's day
• keeping up the household
• WORK: five classes. five billion ungraded written assignments. forgetting things, things slipping through my fingers. the threat of student evaluations. insane and slippery paperwork for four guest speakers' honoraria.
• a bunch of other stuff i probably forgot.
• oh, and grief slapping one upside the head, randomly. "part of the process"

ican'tdoit ican'tdoit ican'tdoit ican'tcan'tcan'tcan'tcan't

iwillnotfeelsorryformyself. no.

UGH. ARGH. AUGH. It will pass, I know it will....

light shining in the darkness

In the midst of one of the worst experiences of my life, somehow I have also found myself at the beginning of one of the best. I'm trying very hard not to question or wonder why, and just to accept this wonderful gift. And be very, very grateful.

memorial for bob in nyc 9/27/10

Two Bobs, Brooklyn Bridge, spring 2005

New York Memorial for Bob Bowen (Robert Emmett Bowen III)
Monday, September 27th, from 5:30 to 10 pm.
Irondale Theater
85 South Oxford Street, Brooklyn NY

Robert Emmett Bowen III, June 18, 1965-August 30, 2010

I cannot imagine anything sadder or harder to grasp. Bob Bowen, my soulmate, friend, and coparent was severely injured in a brutal hit-and-run incident while riding his bicycle in Manhattan on Thursday, August 26. Despite exceptional care at New York Presbyterian's Trauma Center, we lost him Monday night, August 30, just before midnight.

He was loved by so many, and Bobby, Stella, and I are receiving so much love right now. This is only one example. And here is another.

There are no words. Just none.