Love & Grief

Love & Grief My wish is to give peace, comfort, and hope to those on earth grieving the loss of a loved one 💙

The cardinal chose the back of the empty bench —not the seat, the top rail.As if it understoodthat sitting in the spaces...
07/12/2026

The cardinal chose the back of the empty bench —
not the seat, the top rail.
As if it understood
that sitting in the space
someone used to occupy
is too much to ask of anything,
but keeping company with the bench itself —
that is possible.
I will not change myself into something smaller
to make the world more comfortable —
love chose me as I was
and grief keeps me honest,
Exactly this.
keeps me the full size of what I am,
the full weight,
the full particular shape
of someone who loved you completely
and stands in the gray fog
beside the bench
beside the water
exactly as I was made:
unchanged,
with the cardinal on the rail
and the fog over the trees
and the still water taking it all in.
— Love & Grief

The dandelion gave everything it had to the blue air —and the seeds are still going, still crossing the gray.Not all at ...
07/12/2026

The dandelion gave everything it had to the blue air —
and the seeds are still going, still crossing the gray.
Not all at once — in a trail,
each one at a slightly different altitude,
each one carrying its small white crown
into the blue-gray distance
that has no particular destination
and doesn't need one.
I used to dream about the future —
we both did, the way you do
when the future seems like something
you are walking toward together.
Backward now.
Now I dream about the past —
the direction the dandelion seeds came from,
the full white head before the wind,
the moment before the dispersal
when everything was still gathered
in one place
on one stem
in the blue quiet.
I keep looking at what flew away.
I keep counting the white shapes crossing the gray.
The stem still stands, stripped now,
holding the shape of what it carried.
— Love & Grief

The sun is going down into the waterand the water is taking it without complaint.That specific gold —the kind that only ...
07/12/2026

The sun is going down into the water
and the water is taking it without complaint.
That specific gold —
the kind that only lasts
a few minutes before the color changes,
before the path across the water
shortens and narrows
and the light moves on —
Sometimes I wish you back
and in the same breath
cannot bear the thought
of what returning would cost you.
Both at once.
That is the tightest space I live in —
the wanting and the knowing
pressed against each other
so close they share a single breath,
the way the gold light shares the water
with the cold gray underneath,
both of them true,
both of them the surface.
The sun keeps setting into the sea.
The gold path holds as long as it can.
I watch it narrow from both ends
and love you with all of what remains.
— Love & Grief

The chair is facing the oceanand no one is in it.The branch hangs its last leaves overheadthe way certain things hang on...
07/12/2026

The chair is facing the ocean
and no one is in it.
The branch hangs its last leaves overhead
the way certain things hang on —
not refusing to go,
just not quite ready,
and the small dark bird crosses
the gray sky with somewhere to be.
I have so many memories —
that is the thing that makes this harder,
not easier:
the full storage of you,
Still had you.
every room of it intact,
the laughing and the ordinary Tuesday
and the exact way you said my name —
all of it present and precisely useless
for the one thing I keep wanting,
which is not the memory
but the actual weight of you
in the actual chair
facing the actual sea
on an actual afternoon
that is happening right now
without you in it.
— Love & Grief

The whole lake turned gold tonightand he sat down in the tall grass to receive it.Not standing — sitting.The body's way ...
07/12/2026

The whole lake turned gold tonight
and he sat down in the tall grass to receive it.
Not standing — sitting.
The body's way of saying
this is not a moment to move through,
this is a moment to be inside,
while the red cardinal crosses
the amber sky above the water.
Some moments ask for silence —
not the silence of absence
but the silence of two things
occupying the same space without announcement:
Resting. Together.
the grief and the gold
sitting in the tall grass together,
neither one defeating the other,
both of them warmed by the same late light
that comes off the lake
at the exact angle
that finds your face
whether you were ready or not,
and the cardinal keeps crossing
above all of it —
the water, the gold, the sitting still —
the one warm red thing moving through.
— Love & Grief

Nobody told me the shore would keep coming back.That the tide would just keep arriving, indifferent, on schedule.The bea...
07/12/2026

Nobody told me the shore would keep coming back.
That the tide would just keep arriving, indifferent, on schedule.
The beach curves away into the pale distance
where the sky and the water
decide to be the same color —
that specific gray-lavender
that belongs to mornings
nobody asked for.
I was never prepared for this particular math —
the rest of my life
minus you
equals every day from now.
Unprepared. Still here.
I knew how to love you.
I did not know how to be
the person standing on the empty shore
watching the foam arrive and leave,
arrive and leave,
the water doing what water does
with or without a witness,
with or without a reason —
the pale light at the horizon
neither rising nor setting,
just holding its position
at the edge of everything I wasn't ready for.
— Love & Grief

The whole world went white and the cardinal stayed red.That is the complete story, told entirely in color.The snow came ...
07/11/2026

The whole world went white and the cardinal stayed red.
That is the complete story, told entirely in color.
The snow came down over everything —
the branches holding their thin white lines
against the pale sky,
the ground becoming
one unbroken surface
that doesn't distinguish between things,
and then this: the red.
Sitting in the middle of the silence
the way love sits in the middle of grief —
not louder, not winning,
Just. Here.
just specifically,
undeniably,
its own color
in all that surrounding white.
I have stood in cold silence
long enough to know
that the silence is real
and the red is also real —
that both of them can occupy
the same pale winter morning,
the frosted branch above,
the wide white field below,
and the cardinal finding the one spot
where being exactly what it is
is the whole act of visiting,
the whole act of love.
— Love & Grief

The white rose opened fully under a blue sky full of small stars.No one asked it to. It simply opened.And kept its color...
07/11/2026

The white rose opened fully under a blue sky full of small stars.
No one asked it to. It simply opened.
And kept its color — that specific cream-white —
against the blue that deepens at the edges
the way grief deepens at the edges
of what seems like an ordinary moment:
the white standing precise and whole
in the middle of all that surrounding dark.
Some losses change who you are forever —
I noticed this the way you notice
that the mirror shows someone
slightly different than they were:
Forever changed.
not worse, not unmade,
but rearranged at a level
that doesn't show in ordinary light,
only in the blue hours,
the star-scattered nights
when the white rose opens
against the deep blue of what remains
and you see clearly
that the loss has become
part of the structure now —
not a wound, not a gap,
but a changed architecture.
— Love & Grief

Two figures stand at the gate in all that white —barely visible, almost made of the same light as the snow.The cardinal ...
07/11/2026

Two figures stand at the gate in all that white —
barely visible, almost made of the same light as the snow.
The cardinal crosses the blue cold field
from left to right
with somewhere to be
on this side of the light,
the one fully present red thing
in a world that has gone almost entirely pale.
Love waits where goodbyes can no longer reach —
I have turned this over
the way you turn something heavy
to find the place where it's easier to hold:
Beyond the gate.
the gate in the white distance,
the two figures standing in the brightness
that the cold field leads toward
one long slow mile at a time,
and the cardinal moving
through all that blue-white space
between where I stand
and where the gate stands
open in the light —
not a closing, not an ending,
just a threshold
the snow keeps covering and uncovering.
— Love & Grief

The stone sits in the middle of all that gold waterand the butterfly sits on the stone.Not choosing the water —the stone...
07/11/2026

The stone sits in the middle of all that gold water
and the butterfly sits on the stone.
Not choosing the water —
the stone.
The fixed point.
The one thing that doesn't move
while the circles spread outward
from where it meets the surface.
Love never left — it changed the way I carry it.
I used to carry it with two open hands,
the way you carry something warm and present
that keeps giving itself back.
Changed. Not gone.
Now I carry it the way the stone carries
the weight of the butterfly —
barely noticing the weight,
barely distinct from what rests on it,
while the water spreads its rings
outward from both of them
in the gold afternoon light
that makes no distinction
between what is resting
and what is grief
and what is simply the way
one thing holds another in the amber air.
— Love & Grief

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