It occurs to me that I should have a holiday posting.  Here I am in front of my poetry sisters.  That's pretty funny.  Grown women hiding behind a friend.  Anyway, I did write a Christmas letter this year.  And I have had a beautiful season of great dinners, movies, and memories. 

Dear friends and family,

Christmas cards are arriving, and decorations are popping up everywhere.  By this time last year, Chuck and I had mailed our cards and our Christmas presents and left for a month long vacation in Texas.  With Chuck’s death on the 10^th, it was a difficult time for our family.

Chuck was the Christmas Letter author.  I don’t plan to continue the tradition.  A small, homemade card with note is more my style.

So my year has been a bit chaotic. Taxes, roof leaks, replacing light bulbs, etc.—I have a whole new world.  But I am able to manage everything because I have the support of wonderful friends and a caring church.  The children and grandchildren have been attentive, calling and keeping track of me.  Will taught me how to park the Prius in the garage, Tami, Marla, and I spent some wonderful days at the beach at Ocean Shores and a Hoquiam High memorial for Chuck in Hoquiam, Washington.  Wayne calls when he can.

My Dad, Bill Nitzke, joined me for January and February. He is still doing well, playing a bit of golf, reading, and enjoying the day to day.  He will be 100 on February 2. We are planning a little party in Iowa, and I will have a second one for West Coast family and friends on March 9^th.  Getting to 100 in such great shape is a very big deal and deserves a party and celebration.

I was also able to spend time in Portland with the Knopps.  David is working in Colorado, son-in-law Ron is team driving for Gordon Trucking, and both were home for a great family dinner.  I was able to see everyone except Brian who has moved to a great new job in Philadelphia.  I loved being with the great-grandchildren David and Andrew Maynard.  

I spent Mother’s Day in Texas with Will.  It was a great week with lots of gourmet food.

(I’ll never forget the tasty octopus black ink spaghetti.)  I also spent several weeks in Iowa with my family.  My niece Kim had a beautiful wedding, so I had quality time with the extended family and saw both brother’s families.

In this season of celebration and love—I’m always impressed by the selflessness of people donating food, toys for tots, packages to disaster victims---I raise a toast to all the gifts of love:  from our Heavenly Father, from strangers, from loved ones, from friends, from love’s memory. Blessings to you and yours.

The Last of the Grief Poetry. I Hope

I haven't blogged for awhile. Losing my soul mate, my dearest husband and the joy of my life in December made it difficult to write, to concentrate, to even make it through some days. I did write some poetry, however, and I include it here. The first poem actually proceeded December's tragedy, but I am fond of that moment and that poem, so I included it anyway.

Chuck’s Leaves

Two days

after the fall sun

dried out

sodden leaf mounds,

he walked

through the trees,

kicking leaves,

sending oak, poplar,

and plate sized maple

flapping and fluttering

around himself:

the 80 year old man

with the ten year old heart.

Grief Group

After introductions,

each of us

tossed our broken hearts

into our circle.

All our sorrows exposed,

we waited,

inconsolable,

sniffling,

wiping our eyes.

Then we each selected

a few shattered pieces,

and caressing the pain,

we sorted through

the brokenness,

reassembling

our hearts.

Life Changing

The beginning

in my white suit

in his navy suit

before the minister

In between

the wedding and the death;

life was sweet, a perfumed meadow

we hiked together, caressing beauty,

pulling metaphors out of clouds,

then stuffing them in our notebooks.

The end

on a hospital gurney

I held his limp hand

knowing love never ends.

More Madness

It’s NCAA tourney time

and the March Madness

my dead husband loved so much.

I tore the brackets out

of the sports pages, leaving

them on the table for him.

He would have been sad

Duke was defeated by

a fifteenth seeded team

in the second round.

Did I say that I hate

basketball? Players squeak

and screech up and down

the court matching shots.

Announcers hype and

exaggerate every throw.

While Chuck cheered

the Sweet Sixteen, I quilted

in sewing room silence.

But that was last year.

Without Chuck, my

big black screen waits

patiently. Spanish stations

and ESPN are ignored.

But tonight, game on,

I sit in his favorite

chair, waiting his presence.

Anniversary in Hoquiam

Past the farmhouse

with the blue Statue of Liberty

on the straggly front lawn,

we drove through neighborhoods

where we first met.

On the left boarded windows

and peeling green paint

suggest that old tavern

where we would have a beer

and play shuffleboard

As we traded tales,

his stories become mine,

and mine, his.

Too Much Rain

Was it coincidence

that after my love died,

it rained all the time?

Four months it rained.

So many heavenly tears.

Did it rain because

he cried at leaving me?

Was it that this physical man

couldn’t take long walks,

play Beethoven Sonatas,

or give me passionate hugs?

Did he cry because

he did not say, “Goodbye.”

Was it because he would

not see spring lilacs bloom

or smell their perfume?

But summer approaches.

It’s cloudy, but the sun shines.

It is time for both of us

to find some peace.

Marinating in Grief

When my husband died,

the tragedy tore out my heart.

It lay cold and lonely

despite the wrappings

of many well-wishers.

Months later, I peppered

it with our common dialogue:

“Ready for our walk?”

“I’m going to Practice awhile.”

Then I salted it with memories:

the road trips to every state,

walks on the beach, roaming

through Europe’s art museums.

It was soaked with tears .

tears of loss and love.

Even softened by loss,

my heart ‘s raw forever.

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