Tag: Grief

Categories
Memoir

30 Years is a Long Time

At 6:15 this morning I had the thought I should drive to Pennsylvania. Sit at my father’s graveside for a while. Talk about all of the things that have changed in the 30 years since we buried him there, the all of us still in shock about the accident, the sudden death, the things we’d left unsaid.

Thirty years is a long time — almost half my life now — there would be a lot to say.

I hadn’t thought of a cemetery visit, made a plan. The grief is so subtle now, with no demands for place and time. It comes as it will come, whether I am sitting there among rows of stones, or sitting in the woods communing with the spirit of everything.

So that was my choice — the spirit of everything in the woods early this morning, and I was happy for the solitude, the Sunday morning quiet.

While I hoped for a sign — he often appears as Hawk — or a voice on the wind, what I found was gratitude.

A deep and unyielding gratitude for how very well he raised me, how strong he taught me to be; for his laugh and the stick-with-it, positive way he approached life; for his encouragement to dream big and love big.

My favorite story about my Dad was the time he took me sledding when I was about four-and-a-half. He set me up on the sled at the top of a rather large hill and reminded me to steer left when I got to the tree. But I got my left and right mixed up and hit the tree straight on — requiring a race to the emergency room and ten stitches. A few weeks later, he brought me back to that hill and told me to open the glove compartment. Inside was the bloody rag he’d held to my forehead — it was a no-pain-no-gain moment. Then he made get on the sled and go back down the hill because…“When you fall off the horse, you get right back on.”

These days we call that tenacity, perseverance, courage, strength, resilience — all of the things that got 29-year-old me standing graveside to this version of me now. I like to think he’d be really proud.

Categories
Creativity Poetry

Cast Away

I awoke this morning
feeling rudderless
alone and adrift
so I partnered myself
with sheets and pillows
in a meager attempt
to stop the sway
to right myself
between swells
of defeat
and despair
but finding no
equilibrium
I moored myself
to the day
and got on with it
albeit
without commitment
or fortitude
floated aimless
past noon
and afternoon
grateful for the sun’s setting
the welcome drift
of deep deep dreams.

Poem ©2025 Jen Payne. Photo by Josh Sorenson. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Categories
Creativity

Remembering Mary Anne

It’s hard to believe it’s been seven years since my dear, sweet friend Mary Anne Siok died. I think about her a lot, especially these days when her kind of sparkle and joy would be a light in the darkness.

She’d be pissed about the current state of the world. Ferocious in her protests. Screaming from the front lines…and dancing. She’d be dancing…and so would I.

I haven’t re-posted this — her eulogy — for a few years, so I thought this would be a good time. And a good reminder, because I still don’t say YES nearly enough as I should, and the years are racing by…

Mary Anne and I met in a freshman English class at UMass in 1984. We were just joking a few weeks ago about how it’s been 30 years since we graduated. I said “How the hell did that happen?” and she said “Because we’re old.”

But the MA I knew – the one we all knew – was never old. Very often her texts would go on and on about what she was doing and where. (Even her cousin Katherine couldn’t keep up!) The weekend before she died? On Friday, after a full day of work and a train commute home to Rhode Island, she went out for sushi with Billy. On Saturday, she and I spent an entire day walking around the mall, shopping, talking, toasting her birthday with bloody marys. On Sunday, she was with friends at Foxwoods to see the Hollywood Vampires, and then on Monday she celebrated a gorgeous spring day with a drive along the coast and lobster rolls.

THAT, in a big long-weekend nutshell was our Mary Anne.

MA was my best friend, my secret keeper, my sister, my person…and the most fabulous yin to my yang.

Me ever so cautious and worried, the introvert full of specific plans to her come what may, live life to its fullest, hell yeah we’re doing that extrovert with an absolute love of life.

She
was
inspiring.

So much so that in recent years, I’ve taken to asking myself WWMAD? As in: What Would Mary Anne Do?

What would Mary Anne do? Mary Anne would say Yes.

YES to the next concert, the Red Sox or Patriots game, the fireworks, the dive bar, the music festival, the movie night, the road trip, the matching tattoos, and one more Hallmark Christmas movie.

YES to the beach. Always.

YES to anything in black, the sales rack, the sparkly earrings, the extra glass of wine. And YES to Dunkin Donuts. Of course.

YES to dancing … anywhere, drinks at the Hard Rock Cafe, going to the symphony, enjoying a home cooked meal, taking a spinning class … or yoga, cheering on her boyfriend’s band.

YES to shopping at the outlets, seeing an art exhibit, wandering a museum, getting tickets to a play, or a long full day at the Big E.

Jump off a 3-foot ledge into the ocean while a crowd cheers? Yes.
Help you check off something on your bucket list? Yes.

YES to coming to your BBQ, your daughter’s dance recital, your campaign event, your nephew’s first birthday, your sons’ soccer game, your girls’ weekend, your wedding, your holiday dinner. Probably all on the same day … usually with a gift … always with that big, sweet, joyful smile.

A smile that said YES, I’ll move in with you. YES I’ll meet you at the winery. YES I’ll be at the party. YES let’s go shopping.

YES, we have to do this again soon.

Not everyone can do that — be so wide open to life and love and friends and experiences. No holds barred. Fearless. Hell yeah, we’re doing that!

And so, in honor of the blessing that was our wonderful, bold and brazen, brave and beautiful Mary Anne Siok, I challenge you — all of you — to say YES a lot more often.

And I thought we could practice right now…ready?

In memory of Mary Anne Siok, May 31, 2018. Click here to read her full obituary.

Categories
Creativity

Staring Down the Barrel of Age in the Middle of a Hostile Government Takeover

I’m reading a book voraciously this morning, swallowing down pages like I did the Chinese take-out last week, like I do most things these day…it’s Sunday and it’s supposed to be Sacred Sunday — a day of slowness and quiet and rest, a day without the distractions of technology and that loud, noisy world…but the silence these days is hungry, it needs something to fill it up before the monsters come, before their loud clanging of concerns vibrates my mind at a deafening frequency. They’ve already invaded my spine, their long, worried tentacles crippling any attempts to move forward, their slimy bodies slithering into thoughts at night, racing thoughts and me running faster than I can in the wake of days — the technician lists off the degenerative changes, the demineralization, osteophytes, and narrowing spaces, but neglects to mention the impact fracture caused by my inability to see past my own feet. I’ve never been one to skip to the last page of a book, I swear, I’ve always trusted in the ability of its pages to take me where I need to go, to help me manage the outcome with whatever dose of resilience was needed…but this? this story? I am already so braced for the ending there are days I can’t move.

On a lighter note, if you have not read Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt, please do. It’s a lovely read.

Categories
Creativity

What’s Your Resilience Plan?

BY JEN PAYNE

These days, I wake up with a thin veil of hope. Before the All of it sets in. Again. Then I breathe and stretch. Light incense. Beseech saints and gods. And settle into the morning routine of cat feeding and coffee making — this is the Grounding.

When I am fortified enough, I glance at the headlines and subject lines. Read Jessica Craven’s latest Chop Wood, Carry Water to talk me off the ledge. Remind myself about Chaos Theory, and This Too Shall Pass. Recite the Serenity Prayer: serenity, courage, wisdom. Breathe.

I relay inspiring quotes about Resistance and Creativity and Hope on social media. Call and email my Senators and Representatives. Take small actions of Revolution before I settle into my day, which, for now, is same and sane and familiar.

Familiar enough that at some point, I shake off the Big World things and muck about in my own for a while. The usual: the house repairs, the bills, the client rubbing me the wrong way, that one thing that one person said that irritated the piss out of me, my mother’s caregiving, the impending knee surgery, on and on…

And on…while the world fucking burns outside my window. Literally. Figuratively. Absolutely.

Every time I find myself marinating about my Small World things, I hear Julia Roberts/Liz Gilbert in the opening monologue of the movie Eat, Pray, Love:

“l have a friend, Deborah, a psychologist, who was asked if she could offer psychological counseling to Cambodian refugees — boat people, who had recently arrived in the city. Deborah was daunted by the task. These Cambodians had suffered genocide, starvation, relatives murdered before their eyes, years in refugee camps, harrowing boat trips to the West. How could she relate to their suffering? How could she help these people? So guess what all these people wanted to talk about with my friend Deborah, the psychologist. lt was all, “l met this guy in the refugee camp. I thought he really loved me, but when we got separated, he took up with my cousin. Now he says he loves me, and keeps calling me. They’re married now. What should l do?” This is how we are.”

This is how we are, in part, because we are susceptible to what is called “Crisis Fatigue” — that feeling of overwhelm, lack of control, or the urgency of the next crisis.

And goodness knows, we’re like a Russian doll of crises these days! Everywhere you look, it’s crisis stacked upon crisis upon crisis.

So where is the fulcrum? How do we find a balance between staying informed and hiding under covers? Between revolutioning and resting?

Remember, this is a marathon, not a sprint. You need to make time to drink water, slow down a little, pace yourself.

In her article “When tragedy becomes banal: Why news consumers experience crisis fatigue,” Rebecca Rozelle-Stone , Professor of Philosophy, University of North Dakota asks, “How might we recover a capacity for meaningful attention and responses amid incessant, disjointed and overwhelming news?” and suggests, beyond reining in digital device usage, that we consider:

“Limiting the daily intake of news can help people become more attentive to particular issues of concern without feeling overwhelmed. Cultural theorist Yves Citton, in his book The Ecology of Attention, urges readers to “extract” themselves “from the hold of the alertness media regime.” According to him, the current media creates a state of “permanent alertness” through “crisis discourses, images of catastrophes, political scandals, and violent news items.” At the same time, reading long-form articles and essays can actually be a practice that helps with cultivating attentiveness.”

She also recommends a focus on “more solutions-based stories that capture the possibility of change. Avenues for action can be offered to readers to counteract paralysis in the face of tragedy. Amanda Ripley, a former Time magazine journalist, notes that “stories that offer hope, agency, and dignity feel like breaking news right now, because we are so overwhelmed with the opposite.”

So do that.

But remember…it’s OK to take a day off — from work, from social media, from headlines, from the Resistance.

It’s OK to eat ice cream or take a nap or laugh out loud. It’s OK to make plans, to look forward to things.

Do the things that keep you sane and keep you grounded. Revolution requires Resilience.

In Eat, Pray, Love, the medicine man Ketut suggests to Julia Roberts/Liz Gilbert:

Keep grounded so it’s like
you have four legs.
That way, you can stay in this world.
Also, no looking at world
through your head.
Look through your heart instead.
That way, you will know God.

That way, you will know Good.

Categories
Creativity

This is Grieving

It occurred to me this morning — after I went back to bed for two hours because why not? and then spent the next hour filling up every space in my thinking with busyness so as not to actually think think  — that this is Grieving.

This is the day after Death.

This is the day after Death because yesterday you woke up to (mostly, sort of, relatively) normal, and today you know Death.

You not only know Death, you have spent the last day sparring with it. You have cried with it, made inappropriate jokes with it, yelled at it, cursed it, and feared what comes after it. You’ve thought about all of the things you were planning before Death, and tried not to think about all of the things that won’t happen after it.

This is Grief.

Grief is the emotional response to loss. And don’t underestimate it. Don’t think this Grief is somehow less than the Grief you knew when your loved one died or when your relationship ended. This Grief is just as big and real and significant.

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross is known for establishing the Five Stages of Grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. You might think this a chronological, step-by-step process. It’s actually what one would see if they looked at your psyche up-close in a microscope at any minute of the day right now. ALL of that — Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance — floating around in your cells 24/7.

In Judaism, Shiva is an honoring of Grief. It is the week-long period during which people mourn the loss of a loved one. They sit together, usually on low benches to symbolize their grief or “feeling low.” They avoid work and regular routines, talk quietly with family and friends. They don’t worry about their physical appearance, often wear old or torn clothes, light a candle in memory of the loss.

This is Mourning.

The seven days of Shiva are followed by 23 days of Mourning that include limited social activity, prayers, and other rituals. This period of 30 days is called Shloshim.

There are many ways to mourn and many rituals for Mourning. How you experience it depends on “your personality and coping style, your life experience, your faith, and how significant the loss was to you”

Inevitably, the grieving process takes time. Healing happens gradually; it can’t be forced or hurried—and there is no “normal” timetable for grieving. Some people start to feel better in weeks or months. For others, the grieving process is measured in years. Whatever your grief experience, it’s important to be patient with yourself and allow the process to naturally unfold.

This is Grieving.

Which does not mean we’ve stopped caring. Or stopped advocating. Or stopped working to make this world a better place for everyone.

There will be time for all of that again. And soon.

For now, practice self-care: exercise, meditate, eat healthy food, drink water, try to get enough sleep.

Find good things to occupy your time: read a book, spend time with a hobby, go for a long walk, take a drive.

Talk with friends. Follow a routine. Be easy with yourself.

For now, allow yourself the time to feel low. To be quiet. To rest.

This is Grieving.

For more about Grief, please read the following articles which were helpful in writing this essay.

“The Stages of Grief and What to Expect,” by Kimberly Holland,

“Death Rituals, Ceremonies & Traditions Around the World,” by Tracey Wallace

“Shiva, the First Seven Days of Mourning,” by Rabbi Joseph Telushkin,

“Coping with Grief and Loss, Stages of Grief, the Grieving Process, and Learning to Heal,” by Melinda Smith, M.A., Lawrence Robinson and Jeanne Segal, Ph.D.

©2024, Jen Payne. Photo by Ekaterina Astakhova.

Categories
Creativity Poetry

Sometimes Haunting

The specter
I never reveal
is in the line next to me
and I step back
as if to disappear
behind a display

only an illusion

funny, we were here
the last time I saw him
and he called out
across the parking lot
an apology that seemed sincere
but somehow haunting

I still hear it

The fraught words
admission of the time
he went a little crazy
so much I left lights on
and locked doors
listened for creaking floors

the ghost of a threat

Photo by Plato Terentev. Poem ©2024 Jen Payne.

If you like this poem, you’ll love the poems in my new book…

Categories
Creativity Poetry

Overcoming

I’m afraid I stayed too late in dreams
this lovely autumn morning
turned and turned and turned again
because I was flying

Flying!

and I didn’t want to land,
become pedestrian
in the pursuits of the day

I wanted to keep flying

over the black sand beach
where it started

over the incoming tide
its waves no longer at my feet

over the jetty
where people stood and stared

I want to stay with the
monstrous effort of lifting,
of pushing the air like water
higher and higher
as if I was drowning before


and

perhaps

I was


Perhaps that —
all of that —
was just drowning
and this is rebirth
pushing and pushing and pushing

forward or up or through
blankets puddled on the floor
sun streaming through the window
the morning roaring
Get Up!

no matter that I already am

Photo by Nadin Sh. Poem ©2024 Jen Payne.

If you like this poem, you’ll love the poems in my new book…

Categories
National Poetry Month Poetry Writing

5 – Grieving Place, 1


in the morning, usually,

before the day-to-day began

there was a space in which

you could hear the tide

watch the tightrope act of crows

their sunrise spotlight

smell the pitch pines

and housekeeping steam

Beverly or Doris arrived by 9

in a clamoring of car doors

and office doors

before the creak of steps

when Thaiwin appeared

with fresh towels

that soap that said

Bienvenue

and I was Welcome

every time for a decade

big smiles and warm hugs

first names and

how are yous like family

at the start of my days

those weeks by the shore


Photo & Poem ©2023, Jen Payne in memory of weeks spent in an old time hotel by the shore. The Village Green on Cape Cod, now closed, was sold in 2021 by the owners after 35 years in business. #NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Categories
Creativity mindfulness Nature Writing

The Healing Process

The storm took so much it’s difficult to consider — gone the familiar, the known path. Feet so sure there was no need to gauge progress. It was how I became present again, how I stepped back in the moment.

It was where I could breathe, let go, release my rooted stride. Slough off thoughts. Embrace the solitude with just a heartbeat and birdsong for company.

But her wide canopy of solace is gone now, and I have been hobbled.

Those sacred spaces of breath and respite are changed.

And so am I.

So I take a different path this morning and it comforts me.

It whispers…

This rabbit will caretake the old path.

This turtle, hopeful, lays its eggs. As does the robin.

Part of this snake is here but its heart has moved forward,

and this spider writes her poems in the spaces left behind.

Essay ©2021, Jen Payne. If you like this essay, be sure to purchase a copy of my book LOOK UP! Musings on the Nature of Mindfulness, available here.
Categories
Poetry

Ever Effervescent

For Mary Anne Siok

 

Is it the stylish air that draws you?

The sexy, bold sashay?

Perhaps her warm, broad smile

and the laugh that is her way?

 

Do you wonder what beguiles you?

Enchants you to draw near?

As if gifted by the Graces.

Sweet Splendor, Mirth and Cheer.

 

But we know what draws us close to her.

What sets her far above.

A spirit filled with joy and

a heart that brims with love.

 

She asked me once to write her a poem. Probably not my best, but Mary Anne Siok in every word. The world is not the same, my friend. I miss you…daily.

©2020, Jen Payne. Photo: Mary Anne circa 1990.