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

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

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 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.