Meltdown 2018

I didn't have the meltdown as I stood there at his grave,

my shadow falling on the marker with his name

much like my shadow must have fallen

through an open doorway countless nights

when some slight noise alerted me to check the crib,

or later, just to see the childrens' shapes in bed and know

that they were safe. 

The tears did not appear beneath the wind chime 

that I couldn't reach to (hopefully) repair at home.

The tubes were guarded by a frog, some wasps, and as I

batted them away, a groundsman came to see what was

the matter. We worked together, Juan and I, and

got it down for me to take, but I could tell that he was

clearly moved that he could help a mother

at her baby's grave, and on this special day as well.

We both agreed that I would see him once again,

but longing for that far-off day (or not) did not precede

the so-familiar ache that warns my surface will be breached,

the pain about to make its way 

into the light.

At Daddy's place, I listened as they answered crossword questions,

knowing I could tell him what today was, knowing if I did that

likely in a minute, he would slip back into the  fog

where he resides, where loved ones aren't in sight

but close, and coming back, perhaps, at any time.

But as I left him, walking to the car and driving off,

a woman called who needed me to scan some documents.

My signature last week went through in portrait and she

needed landscape for the files and with so many clients 

in her care she really can't be bothered. Would I email right away 

so they can process the insurance?

That's when I lost it. 

I could hold it all together, seamlessly transitioning

from task to task, from exercise to kitchen and from getting

dressed to errands, all without a sense of stress,  until 

she called and one more thing was asked of me.

Poor lady. I could tell that she felt terrible.

But not, I think, as terrible as me. 

You see, that's what a meltdown does. 

You know they'll come, they just don't come on cue. You 

might be talking to someone about a birthday, say the words sixteen 

or son or accident or stand in line for deli meat, or see 

that one of his old friends is getting married 

and you're happy, really happy,

but you're also not. 

For just a minute, meltdowns let you wallow in the loss, 

reminding you that grief is never done, that it's

a process, and a fire that may cool down at times to

ashes and to embers, but also where the breath of God 

may blow it into flames at any time.

Reminding you that it's okay.

Make no apology for feeling.

What you feel is really not the loss at all:

It's love.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2018

A Star is Born

Laura Jane Rogers
Pendergraft,
b. 10/17/1933
d. 01/12/2018

She put in the request with management a year ago,
and wasn't happy that the resolution took its time.
Her agent sent the news this week, eyes still closed,
no one around to share it with because she'd gone so deep
into the conference call that when she moved her lips
we couldn't hear and vainly thought perhaps she had
Important Things to tell us. She did, but told us all our lives
in words and deeds and little sounds she'd make that spoke
so loudly of her views. But at the last, she just made sure
she understood her papers were in order, ticket purchased, transportation all arranged, no luggage necessary, thank you very much. The trip she wanted, longed for, hoped would come much sooner, now at last, come on! And so she took a breath and let it out, and as it went, she went as well, into the atmosphere, into the universe and then beyond. While taking note
of planets, constellations on the way, she smiled a little,
hoping that those left behind would one day made the trip
to see her (and much more) but as for now, the sights and sounds,
the scents, the wonder of it all put her in mind of movies that
she watched when just a child, the happy endings that she knew must
be a possibility, never guessing that the final scene was just the start
of something better, grander, richer.
That the movie of her life was such a tiny slice, a snippet of a story
she'd present eternally, the writing of it perfect,
direction flawless, and the cast of thousands grateful for
the chance to share the screen with such a star.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2018