Oh, December 10th,
Why must you stalk me like a bitter ex-lover?
I don’t want to remember you, to think of you,
To imagine how things could have been different
To reminisce and fantasize hurts too much
But here you are again,
Ringing the doorbell of my heart
Don’t you understand?
I have a new life now; I am happy.
We had our time. Let go.
But, still you cling and make me
Go back to when we were together,
Our phone calls, when
My brother’s car crash was fatal
And my mother’s diagnosis was cancer
Oh, December 10,
Why must you stalk me
Year after year?
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Alice in Authorland 
Yes, anniversaries can really throw us for a loop, for a while. This is well-recognized in the recovery circles I’ve belonged to over the years, and a time to take special care of ourselves. Of course writing about them, and acknowledging their impact is a very important part of the process. And sharing with trusted friends. You do all this so well Alice! I like that you sometimes choose a poetic from, like this one. The short declarative sentences. It suits the punchy and energetic style with which you write–reminds me of Dylan Thomas’s “Rage, rage against the dying of the light” he wrote, about death. “Do not go gentle into that good night. Old age must burn and rage at close of day”, etc etc. I think you would like his writings! 🙂 xxx Shelagh
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Thanks, Shelagh. Yes, writing is part of my grief path (of many facets). I appreciate your reflection. I’ll check out Dylan Thomas.
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