Saturday, March 9, 2013


I've put off making another blog post. You could call it procrastination, I suppose. It wouldn't be incorrect. However, there is more to it than just that persistent devil in my ear that says, "you don't need to do that now. Look! Here is something much more interesting to occupy your time. If you wait, you will find a better subject to write about. Just wait." Although those thoughts are there like the sweet pull of caramel against my teeth, the reason I have avoided this post has been overwhelming grief. I haven't wanted to cry anymore. I haven't wanted to open up that pain, knowing what facing it again will reduce me to at the first poke. It hasn't seemed worth it to go there when there are so many other things I can do besides cry at the separation of someone I loved from this mortal world—their separation from me.

Just writing these first words have left my eyes covered in wet, blurring my vision. A friend told me, as I broke down in tears a week ago while mentioning her death, that it will take a year before I regain my stability. A year before I won't cry at the mention of her. A year before the pain is reduced enough I feel in control again. I don't want to wait a year. I don't like crying at the proverbial drop of a hat. It isn't that I wish to dishonor her memory. I just don't want to cry anymore. I feel raw and on edge from the tears.

I cried for three days straight when I received word in February she had passed away from cancer. I regained my composure—until her memorial service. After that service I collapsed in my grief. I was seriously undone. Now that I have regained my composure these bouts of tears are unnerving. I love her and I have lost her and my life is never going to be the same again. I know that. Whether it is a year or fifteen years, the pain of being separated from my dear friend will still be there. The tears will fade, yes. But the pain won't go away. I still feel the loss of loved ones from early in my life. Not this sharp, knife twisting in my gut pain. But, a deep ache and longing for them. With each loss that cauldron of pain stirs, reminds me of the people I have loved and lost. Too many people who I cherished more than my own life. And I hurt.

My friend is no longer suffering, no longer in horrible, physical pain. And for that I am grateful. I am grateful she is now in the next world. Yes, I believe with every fiber of my being that there is a next world. And that those I have lost are there and having a blast experiencing new things and continuing in their path of growth. It tempers my grief a bit to know they are not suffering now. It doesn't, however, remove it. I hate that we must go through this separation in our lives. I hate that there is death, a veil put between those we love so we can't hear them anymore, can't touch them, can't be with them. Perhaps it is a mere illusion. Some have said it is only an illusion, that they are closer than I think. If this is an illusion it is one I can not break. If I could have broken it, I would have done so by now. It hasn't been for lack of trying. Illusion or not, the separation stands. And my pain doesn't go away. Though if I have a choice between enduring pain and my loved ones being free of pain, the choice is easy. I gladly hold this pain for their freedom. But it isn't a choice I want. I want my loved ones. I miss them all so very deeply.

I wrote a poem for my friend, Em, who passed away in February. I want to share it here with whoever may be reading this blog. This is in memory of one of the sweetest, most beautiful women that ever graced this earth. She was so young, taken much too soon. I wish I could have done a better job with this poem. It pales in comparison to her, and is less than what she deserves. I will write more poetry. Perhaps one of those will be better.

Take the next world by storm, Em. Soar high, sweetie.

False Reality

rush hour spent
going to and back

money received
for a hard day's work
to buy the "good life"

moving through time
too fast to connect
with others

it's a false reality
when all that's real

is love

Patty Saturn © 2013


  1. Patty, thank you for this honest outpouring. I find grief very challenging to speak or write about in any way that ever feels honest enough to my own pain. I hope this has felt somewhat relieving to you to write.

    That mystery of loss is an amazing fierce creature. At least we share it.

    Beautiful poem.

    ~ Kyla

  2. Replies
    1. Westie, I was in such a raw place after Em's loss. I'm sorry I didn't reply. *Hugs* to you, my friend.