Loss
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Mom’s Birthday, February 28, 2013
She would have turned 93,were she alive. Is it okay to say,"Today my mother turns 93,"or can one no longer say this,when the body is gone?In such cases,there is nothing to turn 93.A buried box of ashes?Even that likely no… Continue reading
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Heaven, It Turns Out…
How like Godto reverse our expectations: Heaven, it turns out,isn't something toward which we ascend.No, the journey to heavenrequires one to descend,in a steady, downward spiral,through countless convoluted passageways,as darkness deepens,and whatever baggage you've been clutchingscrapes awayas you squeeze through… Continue reading
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On Growing Old
He witnessed the aging of his bodywith detachment–as if it were happening to an uncleor a neighbor. The graying hair,the sagging in the face,the loss of mobility and strength–no, not after a lifetimeof doing it right–eating, exercising, making all the… Continue reading
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Christmas, Day 7
Christmas ran fast this year. We saw her coming,quickly shaved, showered and dressed,stood by the dusty roadside and waited,expecting to cheer and hoot and holler–and zip—she was there and gone. We returned homeand climbed back into our sweats,grabbed a six-pack,flipped… Continue reading
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Christmas, Day 3
Nine years ago this day,mother willed herself away. Grief blinded us to this gift,which she had so carefully wrappedand presented, privately, to herself. Guilt blinded us to this tender exchangeas spirit said to soul,"Here, for you…that best of gifts,the one… Continue reading
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The Release
I see your hand on the door,hesitating. We know it's time.We know your feast awaits.We know that I, at least,will ache with emptiness once you are gone. Desert me. We know destiny has laid the table,that this you deserve–have prepared… Continue reading
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Missing Winter
Where are you winter?Where the scouring windsand white-rimed leaves,hold-overs from last season's arboreal couture?Where the leveling whiteness,the inward-driving respitefrom summer's relentless restlessness? Where are you winter? Our warm outerwear waits in darkness,wondering, worried;a feeling of abandonment settles like duston the… Continue reading
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Grandmother’s Farmhouse
After she died,grandmother's farmhouse–without anyone's intending it–evolved into a shrine,a monument to our lost history. Untouched, year upon year,it dusted over,much like, every week,the oak table that anchored the kitchendusted over with flour on baking day–only everywhere now–thick on painted window… Continue reading
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The River of Grief
The river of griefebbs and flows like the tide,unstable its banks,its floodplains wide. Text and image © 2012 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved. Continue reading
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Dream 3
I dream that I am a ghost. Without any recollection of my death,I now live in my hometownin an expanded versionof my father's Victorian era office.It is somewhat of a reunion–I live here with dozens of other ghosts like me,many my… Continue reading