Devastatingly beautiful, painful, and wise, Rozali. I am so sorry for what you have lost, both now and throughout your life. But look what an amazingly resilient, brave, and independent woman it made you. How you respond to adversity is a testament to your character and strength.
Below is a bouquet of Mary Oliver poems to aid you on your grieving and healing journey 💐
When Death Comes
by Mary Oliver
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
——
The Journey
by Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.
——
Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
My dad didn't leave us. But he would yell at us until he became quite elderly. And he was violent from my first memory at age two until he was over 70 years old. He did work in Los Alamos for the whole year when I was 11 and my next older brother and I spent only one Summer month with him. I remember feeling some relief that he was far away. And also missed him. He was a very good teacher and it was clear that he loved us.
My dad passed in 2010. I spent the years 2005 - 2014 living about two miles from my parents' house. I got the opportunity to care for them. Dad apologised for the violence. I forgave him. This brought a measure of healing.
Still, I remember being aware of other families where a divorce had taken place and the children were either divided or went to one parent. I know I would have chosen my mom if that had happened and I were asked. In many ways the violence made the continuity of their marriage a challenge for the children to bear. So I can't say I know anything about those happy nuclear families except from watching "Leave it to Beaver" and other television portrayals of that sort.
Your experiences growing up were challenging. I know it's not much consolation but you got through it. And I know it is very hard losing a parent. I am able to report that it doesn't get any easier (or, anyway, it hasn't for me). But I have gotten used to how hard it is.
I reflect on the lives of each of my parents nearly every day. I miss them. And I believe that God is with them.
Let us pray: Eternal Father please accept the soul of the dearly departed into your divine keeping. Amen.
Jim, I think your capacity for forgiveness and ability to love, even despite what you went through (and especially at the hands of someone who is supposed to protect you, not inflict pain), is admirable. I'm glad your father apologized and you were able to get some form of healing. Those 'Leave it to Beaver' families always creeped me out anyway :) Thank you for sharing this. Wishing you well.
My heart goes out to Rozali, and I can only offer you my heartfelt condolences.
So many people have problems with their parents. When such things come up I urge people to do what they can When my dad died, I wasn't speaking to him, and I held him responsible for things that I later realized it was completely unfair to blame him for. In any case, when he died we were estranged, and that part was my fault. That took me a long time to come to terms with.
When you're a child, or even a teenager, you can't really put yourselves in your parent's shoes. Given that your dad abandoned you and made no effort to maintain any level of contact with you, you're remarkably compassionate towards him. It's clear that despite everything, you still have love for him, and that really says something about what a loving person you are.
Anyway, Rozali, this was an extremely moving piece. I've had you on my mind all day. Truthfully, I've never been more moved by anything you've written, and I commend you for having the courage to share something so personal. This is excellent writing, Rozali.
Nietzche said that "Art is what makes the truth bearable" and I really think that someone else with a story similar to yours will end up reading this and finding solace in it. At the same time as being very raw, it's also very emotionally mature, probably because you've been grieving the loss of your father your whole life. I'd really like to share it on Nevermore, when you're ready, and I think that it will find its way to someone who feels like you do... maybe you'll end up connecting with them and corresponding... Whatever happens, I have no doubt that good will come from you having written this piece and chosen to share it with the world.
When your Thought begins to take you down those memories just ignore it. Think of something else, or even better, Think Nothing. Not holding do such memories is the only way too move in the direction of a Balanced Life.
I think there is value in being able to put oneself in a kind of meditative state and letting it go, but I think you can only get there through feeling the feelings, however messy it may be.
Devastatingly beautiful, painful, and wise, Rozali. I am so sorry for what you have lost, both now and throughout your life. But look what an amazingly resilient, brave, and independent woman it made you. How you respond to adversity is a testament to your character and strength.
Below is a bouquet of Mary Oliver poems to aid you on your grieving and healing journey 💐
When Death Comes
by Mary Oliver
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
——
The Journey
by Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.
——
Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
(The last two appear in my “Letter to the Menticided” if you want to see more nicely formatted versions: https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/letter-to-the-menticided-a-12-step)
Thank you, Margaret Anna, for your kind words. Beautiful poems - the first one in particular resonates the most.
My dad didn't leave us. But he would yell at us until he became quite elderly. And he was violent from my first memory at age two until he was over 70 years old. He did work in Los Alamos for the whole year when I was 11 and my next older brother and I spent only one Summer month with him. I remember feeling some relief that he was far away. And also missed him. He was a very good teacher and it was clear that he loved us.
My dad passed in 2010. I spent the years 2005 - 2014 living about two miles from my parents' house. I got the opportunity to care for them. Dad apologised for the violence. I forgave him. This brought a measure of healing.
Still, I remember being aware of other families where a divorce had taken place and the children were either divided or went to one parent. I know I would have chosen my mom if that had happened and I were asked. In many ways the violence made the continuity of their marriage a challenge for the children to bear. So I can't say I know anything about those happy nuclear families except from watching "Leave it to Beaver" and other television portrayals of that sort.
Your experiences growing up were challenging. I know it's not much consolation but you got through it. And I know it is very hard losing a parent. I am able to report that it doesn't get any easier (or, anyway, it hasn't for me). But I have gotten used to how hard it is.
I reflect on the lives of each of my parents nearly every day. I miss them. And I believe that God is with them.
Let us pray: Eternal Father please accept the soul of the dearly departed into your divine keeping. Amen.
Jim, I think your capacity for forgiveness and ability to love, even despite what you went through (and especially at the hands of someone who is supposed to protect you, not inflict pain), is admirable. I'm glad your father apologized and you were able to get some form of healing. Those 'Leave it to Beaver' families always creeped me out anyway :) Thank you for sharing this. Wishing you well.
I’m double your age. I was very moved. Sending you love and compassion.
Thanks so much.
My heart goes out to Rozali, and I can only offer you my heartfelt condolences.
So many people have problems with their parents. When such things come up I urge people to do what they can When my dad died, I wasn't speaking to him, and I held him responsible for things that I later realized it was completely unfair to blame him for. In any case, when he died we were estranged, and that part was my fault. That took me a long time to come to terms with.
When you're a child, or even a teenager, you can't really put yourselves in your parent's shoes. Given that your dad abandoned you and made no effort to maintain any level of contact with you, you're remarkably compassionate towards him. It's clear that despite everything, you still have love for him, and that really says something about what a loving person you are.
Anyway, Rozali, this was an extremely moving piece. I've had you on my mind all day. Truthfully, I've never been more moved by anything you've written, and I commend you for having the courage to share something so personal. This is excellent writing, Rozali.
Nietzche said that "Art is what makes the truth bearable" and I really think that someone else with a story similar to yours will end up reading this and finding solace in it. At the same time as being very raw, it's also very emotionally mature, probably because you've been grieving the loss of your father your whole life. I'd really like to share it on Nevermore, when you're ready, and I think that it will find its way to someone who feels like you do... maybe you'll end up connecting with them and corresponding... Whatever happens, I have no doubt that good will come from you having written this piece and chosen to share it with the world.
Much love,
crow
When your Thought begins to take you down those memories just ignore it. Think of something else, or even better, Think Nothing. Not holding do such memories is the only way too move in the direction of a Balanced Life.
I think there is value in being able to put oneself in a kind of meditative state and letting it go, but I think you can only get there through feeling the feelings, however messy it may be.
Trying in a shorter version with fewer words...
Forget the Past. Don't allow your Thought to reach it.
Meditation is reached when absolute Compassion is present... no Thought, no Past!
I’m sorry for your loss Rosalie.
Thank you, Joan.
He "loved" you so much that he left... Great Father!
I would totally send you a Hallmark card just to mix things up a tad!!! Much love. Thank you for writing!!!!!