Beauty opens the heart;

Wisdom gives it depth;

Fate teaches surrender—

Just take time to catch your breath.

Let Wisdom steady your steps.

May Beauty delight your eyes.

Fate reveals its lessons in time,

Through repetition and surprise.

The graces

Of a well-lived life:

Beauty is the flower,

Wisdom is the root,

Fate is like the weather—

Humility leads to power.

Wisdom teaches how

to meet it all with grace.

To a wise and loving heart,

Even Fate shows a teaching face.

May your life be radiant,

Peacefully carried by Fate:

Grace without vanity,

Wisdom free of pride,

Acceptance without defeat—

I am ever on your side.

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This must be

the peak of my grief.

I can feel the summit beneath my feet.

To be woven

with another soul

for forty years,

to know the language

of our breath,

the quiet of their presence,

the way love settles

into the bones,

and then to watch

as time unravels them,

thread by thread,

through dementia, frailty,

And the slow dimming of a once-bright sky.

I cannot protect him.

I cannot call him back.

I can only visit—

bring my presence like

a small lantern,

sit beside him in the fading light,

and share what blessings remain

in this thinning world.

I believe—

no, I know—

that what binds us

is not confined to this body,

not held by memory’s failing gates.

That when he steps beyond,

our connection will deepen,

not disappear.

And still—

this rift,

this tearing away

from the earth we shared,

is vast.

It echoes through every ordinary moment,

every quiet space we once filled.

This must be

the peak of my grief.

And from here,

I can see

how deeply

I have loved

and been loved!

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my beloved, my protector.

As he fades into dementia,

I have taken on the tasks

he used to handle so well.

And as he lays down

habits of thought and

ways of behaving,

I find that I am picking those up

as well—

characteristics that I admired,

That became the poetry

of our life.

Now that he is gone—

not in body, but in the man he was

I am new, an amalgam

of our life together

In this quiet alchemy,

I’m finding my new voice:

part his, part mine,

all love.

Commemoration.

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A year since you first fell.

A year since life

changed its shape.

A year of hospitals,

care homes,

and waiting,

of learning how to carry what could not be fixed.

Before that I cared

for you at home,

and I was in denial

in the tender ways

that love can be.

Because you were

still with me.

Because we still had each other.

Because love was real

as always

even as I saw the signs.

I saw them.

I did.

in how the days were narrowing.

I just could not bear

to name them too soon.

This feels like an anniversary of sorts,

not of something

begun in joy,

but of something

asking everything.

A year of loss,

of devotion,

a year of standing

beside you

through the long long dimming.

Love stayed.

Hope stayed.

Denial stayed, too,

And still,

I love you.

Still I am here.

Still some part of us remains

in the middle of all this change.

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You do not have to chase

what is meant for you

It moves at the pace

of your own becoming.

Tend to your breath,

your steps, small kindness.

The rest will find you

as you're ready

to need it.

Soften today

Let your heart be a garden

trusting the rain.

What is meant for you

is on its way,

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finding you with

every breath you take.

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A year since you first fell.

A year since life

changed its shape.

A year of hospitals,

care homes,

and waiting,

of learning how to carry

what could not be fixed.

Before that I cared

for you at home,

and I was in denial

in the tender ways

that love can be.

Because you were

still with me.

Because we still had each other.

Because love was real

as always

even as I saw the signs.

I saw them.

I did.

in how the days were narrowing.

I just could not bear

to name them too soon.

This feels like an anniversary of sorts,

not of something begun in joy,

but of something

asking everything.

A year of loss,

of devotion,

a year of standing

beside you

through the long long dimming.

Love stayed.

Hope stayed.

Denial stayed, too,

And still,

I love you.

Still I am here.

Still some part of us remains

in the middle of all this change.

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“I want you to be okay,”

That’s what he told me today.

Amidst his pieces of stories and urgencies that are mostly the detritus of remembered tasks.

Something changed.

He is aware of decline and departure.

He still says my name

The same way. I say his like I always do.

I smiled for him,

Grazed his dear forehead with my lips

And hid the crack opening in my chest.

“I am okay. I will be okay. Because of you” I replied, “We will always be connected and always come back together.

I am okay because of you. Thank you dear for everything. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Later, alone I realized

this is what love sings

when it begins to journey

But still refuses

to abandon.

Call this a sign

and mercy:

The mind unweaves

but love

stayed woven in.

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Await the hush

where meaning pools

Await what ripens and unspools

Await the unseen

already in motion.

Feel the hour that

rolls in like the ocean.

Await the quiet turning underneath events.

Soft arrival of what belongs

and what’s still to be sent.

Await the threshold

that appears.

What speaks in silence

Answering your fears.

Await what comes without force.

Await the hidden light.

Await what always is approaching,

Veil thinning when

magic takes flight.

Await the breath

between moments.

hidden hand arranging everything

Await the meshing of the soul’s components

And paths forming whenever you sing.

Await what descends

without falling.

Subtle insight into the fabric of all.

The echo from no sound.

Await what you can’t quite recall

Await the ancient rhythm moving through The Now.

Await what calls you without voice.

The sudden appearance of choice

To Open, Permit, Allow.

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We’re the kind of love

That everybody wants.

Every night a date,

even if just

on the couch.

Your hand always

found mine.

We were each other’s proof

that the world

could be kind.

You behind me

saying “Go!”

Me always with you saying “I am here”.

Everything

was possible for us.

I always felt safe

with you

Love like ours a

real magic shield.

Reliable, and sustaining.

Then time

quiet and stealthy

began misplacing

small things:

A word here,

a story there,

the way your eyes would hold mine

began to slightly drift.

I kept thinking:

this is where I fix it.

I can step in

and pull you back.

Because I always could.

And because

we always did.

But this was different.

I was holding on

Believing

while something

larger than us

Invaded our life,

loosening your grip

one finger at a time.

I hate this slow surrender,

learning that love

even ours

doesn’t always get to win

Feeling like a failure,

If only I was stronger,

smarter,

more—something—

enough to keep you

here with me.

But even now,

when your words wander

off and blur,

there are moments

bright and stubborn—

when you look at me:

Still Here.

Beginning to understand,

a little at a time,

that I am not losing you

because I didn’t fight hard.

I am missing you

because this is what

time does,

what bodies do,

what life can do

even to the most beautiful things

of all.

So I stay.

And visit everyday.

Sitting here beside you

in every version

of your way,

in every role you play,

loving you with

Touch, smiles

and singing

even as you

Drift away.

And if I have to

let you go

piece by piece in time,

I will hold each piece

close to me

as long as I’m allowed.

As long as it is mine.

No I haven’t failed.

Our love keeps

always strong,

and strong real things

Are never

ever really gone.

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The days arrive

already thick,

clouds moving stately

as cement.

The air sits heavy

in my chest,

time takes its time

In these pre-dawn hours.

The chorus of diminishments,

careful turning of a body,

the ritual of waiting beside

what I cannot change.

Sips of water

so cool

and good to see

ring a small bell

and sunlight slips

through the blinds.

Softness of a clean shirt,

the ordinary holiness

of warm morning rice,

the silent agreement

when our hands meet.

These are not cures.

But so much more

than that.

We can not

argue with grief.

or ask the sky to clear.

but surprisingly,

Tiny Sparks of Joy

in simple things

simply arrive,

So quiet they are easy

to miss.

Like sparks in damp air

that should not

take flame,

but you can fan them.

and I do.

Keeper of routines,

that never promised

repair,

But they hold a shape

the day can live within.

Brush teeth.

Boil water.

Brush boil water teeth

Fold the blanket again.

Inside these iterations,

something flickers

enticingly,

a sort of permission

and help

on which to

build another day.

Feel the weight

What else can you do?

But notice the way

that bodies say yes

to warmth,

to breath,

to no more steps.

So awful, so mundane.

Grief is a long

stretch of weather.

But here,

small lights insist;

Though brief

they are stubborn,

snow cherries

out of season.

And we learn

to love them

without asking

That they last.

Still grateful

and grieving

in this terrible,

beautiful dance.

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The days arrive

already thick,

clouds moving stately

as cement.

The air sits heavy

in my chest,

time takes its time

In these pre-dawn hours.

The chorus of diminishments,

careful turning of a body,

the ritual of waiting beside

what I cannot change.

Sips of water

so cool

and good to see

ring a small bell

and sunlight slips

through the blinds.

Softness of a clean shirt,

the ordinary holiness

of warm morning rice,

the silent agreement

when our hands meet.

These are not cures.

But so much more than that.

We can not

argue with grief.

or ask the sky to clear.

but surprisingly,

Tiny Sparks of Joy

in simple things

simply arrive,

So quiet they are easy

to miss.

Like sparks in damp air

that should not take flame,

but you can fan them.

and I do.

Keeper of routines,

that never promised repair,

But they hold a shape

the day can live within.

Brush teeth.

Boil water.

Brush boil water teeth

Fold the blanket again.

Inside these iterations,

something flickers

enticingly,

a sort of permission

and help

on which to

build another day.

Feel the weight

What else can you do?

But notice the way

that bodies says yes

to warmth,

to breath,

to no more steps.

So awful, so mundane.

Grief is a long

stretch of weather.

But here,

small lights insist;

Though brief

they are stubborn,

snow cherries

out of season.

And we learn

to love them

without asking

That they last.

Still grateful

and grieving

in this terrible,

beautiful dance.

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Angels are closest

when we need them

the mostest.

They don’t always sparkle

or show up the boldest.

They slip in like slippers

on cold kitchen floors,

or hum in the hinges

of half-open doors.

They hide in the pause

between “I can’t”

and “I might,”

in the soft little shift

that turns wrong into “right.”

They don’t come

to dazzle

or fix every tear,

just to sit with our ache

and make space for it, Dear.

Sometimes they feel

like a hand on your back

when the road disappears

and you can’t find

the track.

And sometimes—this part

is the quietest thing—

they don’t feel like angels

at all, not with wings…

Just a piece of you

that refuses to fall,

a small stubborn spark

that outlasts it all.

So if nothing seems bright

and the day feels

the longest,

remember: that’s when

Angels are working their strongest.

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Is this storm forever,

or just a passing rain?

Will it fill the

whole wide sky,

or only touch one lane?

And if I cannot stop it,

what can I still do?

Can I take one small brave step,

and find a path on through?

Some things feel huge

in the moment,

like they reach everywhere.

But many dark days shrink down small

when we notice,

breathe, and care.

Not all hard things

stay with us.

Not all hurt will

grow so wide.

And even when

the world feels heavy,

there's sanctuary inside.

One thought can lift

like sunlight:

“This is real

but not the end.”

A child can hear the courage.

An adult can trust and amend.

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Morning again

A bird sings unseen,

not to mend

or answer grief,

But just because it can.

Light finds the leaves,

a quiet shining,

scattering blessings

no one had to earn.

Only be ready to notice.

I Will stand this morning

not healed,

not feeling whole,

But here I am

feeling this ache

like a stone.

Remembering the warmth

Of a hand on my shoulder.

I do not forget

what is being lost.

But the wind moves gently,

and the leaves

do not resist.

And somewhere,

beneath thought,

And even fear,

a quiet knowing

Arises:

Loyal love does not ask

the sun to stop rising.

It welcomes the light

even now.

Let there be light

Even as my lucky star

is dimming.

Let there be light.

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Some days arrive

with heavy hands,

A quiet weight

we didn’t plan.

Still some light

slips through the seams

soft as breath

Mostly unseen.

Nothing here is “wrong,”

every sorrow has a song.

Even grief

That hollow space,

holds a kind of

tender grace.

We wake, we ache,

we carry on,

And not because

The pain is gone

but just because,

beneath it all,

life still answers

when we call.

A cup of warmth,

The passing breeze,

small mercies offered

Wrapped in ease.

It’s in these moments,

clear and true,

the miracle greets

and touches you.

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