Can you feel it–
Your soul coming
on full
Like the moon?
While it’s never
truly gone,
There have been times
it felt like only a sliver.
But, those were the
nights of yesterday.
The light is arising
from within.
Like a tender
sprout through
the earth.
As unsteady and
beautiful as
a baby deer’s legs.
Soon, she will run.
Like you–full
and elegant.
Catching gazes
once again.
“Don’t get me wrong: grief sucks; it really does. Unfortunately, though, avoiding it robs us of life, of the now, of a sense of living spirit.” ~ Anne Lamott
My friend’s husband cheated on her. I’m not going to tell you the details, but let’s just say there were circumstances. Because there always are, right?
Still, in her mind, the action was unforgivable. Her family agreed. But, what about her kids? He was still their dad.
My friend loved this man and never imagined him cheating. She trusted him. They were the kind of couple that fit like puzzle pieces. They made a beautiful picture.
How f*cking dare he?! Well, you know—circumstances. No, not excuses. However, yes, in hindsight, I saw his humanity and how he came to be with that other woman, practically unapologetically.
Still, for a handful of years, my friend—you know, for the sake of the kids—continued taking family vacations with this man she meant to divorce. She had every intention. Because she couldn’t forgive him.
A couple years ago when I saw her, she mentioned his name without disdain or discussion of divorce. The way his name rolled off her tongue was casual and light.
I looked into her eyes and asked, “Are you guys back together?” The answer was yes without explanation, apology or fantasy. Just solid.
“How did that happen?” I asked.
She laughed. “You know, I was really such a baby about the whole thing.”
Ha! I’d say she’d been grieving. In grief we cry. We bitch about what happened. We analyze. We decide something different every hour of every day. We turn in circles like a dog, never finding the right spot. Until we do.
Grief is a game changer. It shatters the ground we stand solid on. It takes us with it like being sucked into a sinkhole. When our foundation crumbles, so do we.
My friend is one of the most balanced people I’ve ever known in my 50-plus years. She’s not naïve or gullible, more like strong, sensible, genuine, and yes, loving.
However, in her early stages of grief, she almost checked herself into a mental hospital because she met with rage that wanted to kill and sadness that wanted to die.
Instead, she learned to rise. So did her husband—after she determined she’d be okay either way.
It took time. In her case, years. Grief—whether from betrayal, death, divorce or tragedy—doesn’t come with an expiration date. It’s not linear and each case is different.
I recently read an article about a woman who was burned—face, hands, and body—life-threatening burns, in a camp fire started by her husband. After she arrived home from the hospital, her husband hit the road because she was just too much for him to handle. However, her young daughter needed her mother. The story revealed this woman’s resilience, faith and determination.
All I could think was, F*ck! I’ve been such a baby about this whole my-boyfriend-dying thing.
Maybe. But, like my friend, I can laugh. I went into the depths of my pain and came out with my lessons. I’m coming back to myself with new awareness and understanding, compassion and certainty, which, in this chapter, this time, could only be gained by going in.
This was master’s level grief. It required more of me. It demanded I go through the dark and crazy, and invest the tears and time.
Babies cry when things are sad. They naturally honor their emotions, rather than trying to buck up. Then, they stop crying and get back to playing—after they’re all cried out. Or had a nap.
So, yeah, I guess I was a baby about the whole thing, too. And yet, I don’t regret a single tear.
“When we turn on light, darkness disappears.” ~ Marianne Williamson
We want black and white, good and bad, light and dark. We want to choose sides, draw lines and know we’re right—in the church we’ve chosen, the political party we’re affiliated with, and the side of the law “our” people are on, as if DNA hasn’t exonerated hundreds of falsely convicted.
Personally, I like to draw a line and call Donald Trump the devil. Maybe, but maybe he’s the wake-up call our society has served itself. Maybe there’s some good there.
That thought is quite a stretch for me, but I actually like trying to understand, even when I disagree with other sides. I’m curious how people come to their conclusions.
While I’m a thousand miles from sharing certain ideologies, I can sometimes see, stretching into openness, how someone arrived. Sometimes I can imagine maybe if I was born to those parents, with that DNA and raised in those circumstances, with their challenges (or wealth and opportunities), I might conclude things that given my particular path I can’t fathom.
Curiosity is a start. Not just what do you believe, but how did you get there?
Maybe if I understand another’s journey, I can simply honor—for them—the seductiveness of a philosophy that’s foreign to me.
And yet, this consideration scares me, due to the rhetoric and bullsh*t I like believe I’m immune to. How many of us like to think I’m smarter than that?
Well, I’ve seen intelligent women fall for deceiving men (and vice versa), smart businesspeople fail, and good family members and friends vote for a charlatan.
I myself have been manipulated, multiple times. Then, I awoke.
Things I believed in my 20s and 30s no longer serve me. That doesn’t mean I was wrong. I was on my path.
Maybe that’s the best I can do—respect each has a path and invite light on mine. What I can’t do is become so understanding of darkness I go there.
I cannot condone hate. I cannot stand idle to the fall of our democracy, to mistreatment of children, animals or marginalized groups.
But, maybe I can say, “Yes, I see you there” because people want to be seen. I see you in your darkness. I won’t make you defend it.
I hope and pray with everything I’ve got that I may shine light. Not me alone, but together with other women and men walking in the light.
The truth is I’m afraid of the dark: violence, anger, hatred, judgement, self-righteousness. Screaming is enough to shake my soul. I’m a peaceful warrior.
For so long, I’ve been walking the path of peace and believing that was enough. Now, it’s time to awaken the warrior and spread the light.
I’m little in a sea of opposing forces. But, still I swim here. I live here. I love here. Collectively, I’m part of a new path. I’m walking in spite of my fear.
Why show up at all? For one, I have a beautiful little niece named Madeline who’s dancing in the light of childhood and innocence. Life will teach her many hard things. My hope is she doesn’t have to grow up into a world welcoming her with proof that darkness prevails.
Second, my mother fought for women’s rights. I witnessed that fight and naively believed it had been mostly won. No, the baton has been passed. I’m called to continue.
Third, my stepmom marched for civil rights. Doesn’t the name say it all? What happened to civility?
We, as a country, have turned cruel. We’re not embodying the basic principles most parents teach their children—kindness, fairness, decency, respect, showing up, not being bullies.
My God, I saw a group of middle-aged adults engaging in fist fights at their children’s high school graduation, over someone saving seats. Really?!
This is the playground of life. Some swing on the swings happily oblivious.
But, there’s a bully beating others to a pulp while a crowd chants, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” Someone runs to tell a teacher/leader, but they don’t want to jeopardize their comfort. So, they hang in the lounge pretending not to hear.
We must walk through the crowd of instigators and pull the bully off our democracy. We must say: Stop. That’s enough.
We don’t care who threw the first punch. We care about stopping the fight and restoring peace to the playground.
Sure, it’s more complicated than that. Or is it?
People say, “Don’t look back.” “Don’t live in yesterday.”
I miss my young spunk and the belief that all great things were coming to me. They have. They did. However, when we’re young, we don’t acknowledge all that can fall away or the price we may be asked to pay.
I thought I’d paid upfront for legendary love. I thought my lessons before Kevin and I became a couple were my ticket to fly with him. And, oh how we did!
For a brief time. We were so in when he was taken out of this world. I wasn’t young or full of naïve hope. For two decades, Kevin bitched about women and I bragged about men.
Shortly before we got together, Kevin said, “Hey Icey,” (his nickname for me), “Am I your only guy friend you haven’t slept with?”
I laughed and said, “No, there are a couple others.”
In all those years, I never imagined I’d be Kevin Lentz’s girlfriend. In fact, I thought he was an ass.
Don’t get me wrong, I was quite the brat when we met back in our Britannica selling days. Somehow, I overlooked his bullish, but Southern behavior and we became friends.
Still, I didn’t envision or desire anything more until after our time together in May of 2014. I was staying in Kevin’s home for Mother’s Day. We talked until late in the night, huddled on his living room floor.
We told stories about our moms, their health and deaths, our connections with them and the challenges these strong women delivered us as kids. Kevin and I shared the good and bad about our moms and ourselves.
It’s like I’d always been standing outside the house of Kevin. We’d been close, but on that visit he threw open the door of his true self and said, “Come on in!”
How many people stand outside the house of others believing they know the interior? How rarely we really reveal the depths of ourselves.
Kevin did. He invited me to do the same. As much talk as there is about authenticity, there’s a level so much deeper than most of us ordinarily go.
Kevin invited me in—not just to the living room, but to the bedroom and basement of his soul. I walked timidly at first, trying to express my fears and explain how I’d been hurt in the past.
The way he said, “I’m not those other guys” was like walking into a friend’s basement when you fear it could be a dark scene from Law & Order, but he says, “Don’t be scared.”
So, I stopped being scared. When we got into the basement, I had as much fun as those kids on That 70s Show had in their basement.
And riding in the car with Kevin was like that, too. If you’ve watched the show, you know the feeling of singing and laughing, the feeling I had with Kevin. Then, our show was cancelled.
I know I’ll fall in love again. I’m lucky like that.
But, I’m not new at this game called life. I’d been on earth for 49 years—some 17,885+ days—before Kevin and I became Fire & Ice. He held my heart for 660 days and those were my favorite of them all.
I thought all beginnings were good, but Kevin said, “No, they’re not. This is different.” He was right.
Kevin was convinced his mom, from the other side, brought me back into his life because this was the kind of relationship she always desired for him. He made me believe and even assured me we’d “just keep getting better and better.” We did. Until he died.
Now, I’m trying to adjust to the idea that my life will just keep getting better and better, even with my Fire burning on the other side. That’s a big idea when my heart broke in the midst of a party in the basement of our souls. I was crushed, buried in my grief.
I’m crawling out. I see the light. I feel his love. I’m finding my divine direction again, but this grief still tastes bittersweet.
Speak to me, entities
Beyond the clouds and trees,
Those who live in the other
Room and alternate realm.
I yearn to learn
Your language.
Whisper secrets
Into my soul.
Shout truth beyond
The human struggle.
Help me dance my
Days on earth, and
Be of benefit
Where I can.
Show me color
In darkness,
Life in death,
Humor in seriousness.
Overcome me. Overwhelm me.
Rearrange me. Introduce me.
To light. Sway me like
The ocean waves. Take me
Under. Throw me into new
Waters. Tumble my yesterdays
Into something that shimmers.
Let me see anew.
Limitations be gone.
Expectations expire.
Hope renews.
Mind ignites.
Body moves with grace.
Gratitude seeps from
My very being.
I am here. I am there.
I am aware and willing,
Open, steady, rocking my
Way into something more.
No plan. No demand.
Soaring like an eagle.
Unquestioning.
Prevailing.
Dear New Man,
If you want to be with me in this chapter of my life, it’s a package deal. Some women have children. A man needs to know that going in.
If you tell me to put the past in the past, you communicate a lack understanding and compassion for the depth of my love, the richness of my relationship that was ripped away from me, or the ongoing agony of grief.
Maybe you’ve been dealt the death of loved ones, too. So had I before I lost my beloved. I’d experienced the deaths of my brother, mother, and brother-in-law. This is different.
Maybe you’ve been in love before. I, too have been blessed with that heart-expanding experience a handful of times, including two marriages.
However, the kind of relationship I craved to create out of each of those previous relationships never came to pass.
Until Kevin. As I neared 50, I found everything I’d been looking for.
Not that he was perfect. And I was the other part of the equation. So, you know, not perfect.
Yet, somehow we shaped a world in which the two of us danced free, passionate, happy, open and engaged.
That relationship continues. He’s the Fire inside me that never goes out.
Some people think it rude to talk about previous partners once you’re with a new one. I say, until someone can convince me of the benefit of holding back, I’ll continue speaking Kevin’s name.
If you listen, you’ll hear my soul speak, loud and proud and feminine.
If you want to fall for me, take all of me.
Grief isn’t my baggage; it’s my advantage.
See, I’ve inhabited that space where wondrous, life-enhancing love exists. So, I know I can go there again. I just can’t tell you when, how, or if it will be with you. There’s much I don’t know.
I see you standing before me, saying you want to walk with me. It may be a hard road for you, as it may never be just us two.
Kevin is my constant, still. He’s the music in songs, the flavor in foods, and my mind reels with memory like the ticker tape running across the bottom of the TV screen.
Here’s the breaking news: I have no desire to dismiss my past.
The reality that I’m with another man—any other man—feels foreign to me.
It’s not that I feel I’m cheating on my beloved. It’s that a part of my heart lives outside this world and a part of Kevin’s remains in me.
It’s—to quote Glennon Doyle Melton—a brutiful thing. You can wish the brutal away or deny its existence. You can even disappear for fear you can’t compete with a dead man.
Trust me, there’s no competition. And no, I didn’t put him on a pedestal in the aftermath. I rose into love like a bird swoops on the wind.
Better than fantasy. it was my reality.
Good. Pure. Right. Until his lights went out. Out of this world.
You tell me not to dim the lights on us because of my past. I refuse to pretend to feel any more or less than I do.
How dare you accuse me of wallowing? Oh, not that you did, but that’s how it feels when you seem to insist I’m letting my past get in your way.
I honor my grief and if you respect me and want to get me, you will too.
You’ll understand Kevin’s love for me is an essential ingredient that goes into making me the woman you want to make yours.
Here’s the cool thing about my boyfriend being dead: I can take on another man if I choose. I can take on you.
I can take your hand and your kiss. We can date and I can appreciate your presence, even while missing him every single day.
A while ago, I would’ve told you I miss him every moment. So, progress!
It’s like this. When I was in junior high, my friend’s dog bit me on my face. I was rushed to the hospital for stitches. It left a scar on my lip, one which people felt compelled to comment on for years.
A boss once assured me I could get my scar fixed by a superb surgeon. When he saw me wince, he tried to convince me it was hardly noticeable.
As if I didn’t see my scar every time I looked in the mirror. As if I couldn’t see people staring and suppressing the question: What happened?
Now, it’s been decades and people rarely ask this adult woman, What happened to your face?
This happened: I got hurt. It left a scar on my lip, just as Kevin’s death left a scar on my heart.
Do you know scar tissue is stronger than the original skin?
I think Kevin knew. Only one scar shows on my body, but Kevin loved them all. By doing this, he made way for me to love what I once considered my inadequacies. He insisted they were all a part of the ICE (his nickname for me) package—unique and beautiful.
His love opened the door for me to be more of who I am.
I’m the woman who you, new man, now claim to want. And yet, you want me to close that door?
Not happening. I’m still healing. The scar forming on my heart doesn’t need to be fixed. It needs to be seen.
If you really believe I’m the one for you, see my scars. See the pain, but look for the beauty.
This scar sews together the seam between where I got hurt and where I need to be loved.
My dead boyfriend isn’t an obstacle or a hurdle to leap. He’s not your competition. He doesn’t stand in the way of anything you and I might create.
My grief is a gate.
It opens to all of me—my wisdom, resilience and feminine essence. It lives in my heart. Do you have the courage to go there?
I promise only this. I offer you no less than my real self, the scar upon my broken heart and the sagacity born from my soul’s searching.
So new man, don’t be afraid of what happened to me yesterday. Lean in. Love my scars.
In this time of grieving
May our hearts remain open
When we are tempted to close them.
May our vision clear,
When we see only clouds.
May we give in to our tears and
Laugh when things are funny
Without thought to social permissibility.
May we move forward, yet
Sit for some time with our memories
And the flood of feelings,
Knowing we will not drown
In the cold, dark winter of grief because
Spring will come again.
Spring will come again.
I want to know: who flung those arrows into your heart, how did you escape the pain, and what have you learned about walking in this world?
I wish to rip off your mask and talk deep with ease.
If you wish to know me, see me. If you wish to see me, look beyond the maintained by the manmade.
If you wish to make your way into my heart, open yours. I’ll look past your label, your name, and my subconscious assumptions I’d rather deny.
Please don’t put me on a pedestal unless your destination is disappointment.
I won’t dismiss you—today, but don’t book your expectations on me. I offer you no promises and tell you I’ve broken plenty in the past.
I promised forever and failed—twice.
I’ve also lived in the moment and given full-on, exercised-in-delight love.
I’ve changed men. Some woke up and others shattered.
With men, I’ve both expanded and become completely undone.
I’m the phoenix. I fly into the fire and come out transformed.
That’s why I leaped off a 50-foot telephone pole and walked across 40-feet of hot burning coals. Metamorphosis is what I do.
It’s my chosen path even when I attempt to avoid it, which I do less and less as I age. I welcome change because it’s coming.
I’d like to invite you with me, but I don’t know how long your destiny is meant to intertwine with mine.
Some main characters of yesterday are no longer on the page.
This isn’t a novel. I’m the author of this true story.
I have a say, but how many actors and factors come into play in a life? Prediction seems preposterous.
I’m a risk taker, but today I cling to certainties.
You’re on my path. That’s all I know.
I want to know more. I want to know: who flung those arrows into your heart, how did you escape the pain, and what have you learned about walking in this world? How did you learn to sing and what drives you to get up in the morning?
I want to know the answers below the answers. I yearn for soul connection.
It starts with the eyes. Yet, sometimes I turn away from yours. It’s the intimacy I crave colliding with my protection mechanisms.
I want to ask, why are you still here? And, thank God you’re still here.
Yet, I look away. I look away? Forgive me.
I’m afraid of the unknown, disappointing one more man, and death—yours—even though I don’t know you that well yet.
Only beyond words. From that other lifetime where we meant something to each other that’s been carried over here—in coincidences, synchronicities, habits, and conversational patterns.
So, lean in and tell me what you see in my eyes.
Maybe I need to go to the mirror before I can meet you where you are.
I wish to know you, to see you. I wish to rip off your mask, talk deep with ease, and listen like life is speaking.
I don’t understand low-maintenance, high-functioning folks. Sometimes I see people maintaining themselves by sucking on other people’s energy.
I sustain my own energy by tending to the two sides of me.
I envy extroverts who get revved up by hanging with others.
For me, these are my required maintenance procedures:
1. Writing—morning pages, journaling and writing with purpose for publication.
2. Yoga or stretching. My body gets physically knotted up and I’m in pain if I don’t find a way to untie the knots. (Massage works, too.)
3. Walking in nature. It’s the act of movement, and nature kisses my skin and whispers to my soul if I go it alone.
4. Reading—expands my mind and heart.
5. Prayer—to God, angels, guides, Mother Mary, Jesus Christ, Holy Spirit, and my loved ones on the other side. It can take a while.
6. Meditation—without it I’d come undone.
These are solo pursuits. When I take these steps I’m better able to connect with the world.
Also, I love being alone. I’m not bored. I’m not lonely.
Extroverts, I love you with your eager invitations and how you can’t fathom my time alone is your competition. It is.
Introverts, I’m with you in the magnitude of solitude, silence drawing out peace and presence for ourselves in order to invoke any magnificence we may hope to possess.
Extroverts, you drag me from the dark depths of myself—beyond the blackness. Some days and nights, I stand at death’s door begging for entry into something beyond. You entertain me and keep me awake to others’ laughter, dancing, voices and stories.
You make me come out and live. Thank you.
Introverts, we know our time alone can be where we feel most alive, authentic and valid. They may think we’re hiding, but it’s here where we face life head on. We’re not afraid of darkness. Or light. The sacred ignites our souls. We see stars intimately. We speak poetry as if it’s our first language. We dance with music because it becomes us. Alone, we’re more than we care to explain, show or present to the great pretenders running the world we run away from.
Extroverts, I adore your laughter and our connections. Yet, I can’t comprehend your apprehension toward solitude. How can it not soothe you?
Don’t you dare to dance with your one true soul mate—you?
We introverts don’t quite understand the loneliness you speak of, for others tend to engulf us in emotional claustrophobia.
Me, I dance between the world of people and parties and my full-on presence. Too much out there invites pretense, lest I speak truth most don’t care for.
Truth—I kiss her and let her seep inside my soul alone on quiet nights and precious days. She allows me to return full and ready, capable of conjuring words, not to hurt but ideally to awaken and elevate.
I’m two sides of the personality coin: introvert/extrovert. I must spend them equally. And so I dance—in the world and in my kitchen.
If you were told to
pipe down,
settle down,
quiet down,
And you learned to
tamp down,
shut down,
look down,
Isn’t it time to
step up,
stand up,
speak up?
You don’t have to
give up.
Just lift up
& look up.
Now is your time.
Awaken the authentic you.
Turn the page.
Be the author
& the character
in a story
worth telling.
Alice in Authorland 