"Table for Two": a visual poem about grief & finding pockets of joy
At no point did my pen stop moving; my raw feelings and impressions covered three pages: my mama's dementia, hospice care, hallucinations, my child's mental illness and recovery, the toll the pandemic has taken on my nuclear family, longing for family dinners but adjusting to meals at our "table for two".
When will my mama forget me? Becoming fluent in the language of grief
I discovered the phrase “ambiguous grief” recently. It perfectly encapsulates the overwhelming sorrow I sometimes feel after spending time with my mother. Often, upon returning home, I take to my bed for a day or two, weeping, unable to function. Each return feels like a mini-death ritual, yet…she is alive.