Smelling the roses! These ones have a divine, spicy tea scent (photo: Roy Cross).
Susan Jeanne Briscoe
November 13, 1966 – August 31, 2018
Susan was a teacher and researcher at Dawson College in Montreal when she fell ill. After her terminal diagnosis, Susan created The Death Project, a blog in which she beautifully and honestly wrote about living and dying. The blog has touched tens of thousands of readers from all over the world.
Snow is coming. Teresa said out of the blue staring out into the dark corners of the garden from the balcony, swaying her body side to side that drives me dizzy, Snow is coming. It’s only November and the cold … Continue reading →
Here lies ashes of Art Morgan buried at the foot of Sakura Tree at Forest Law Cemetery close to Mother’s gravesite.
Father and Son
wearing the same outfit
black turtle neck, black jacket, black coat.
Can I tell the difference?
young and older,
It was Remembrance Day.
Father was in town for the legion
to commemorate Remembrance Day.
Where have you been hiding this young lady?
asked Father to Son.
Where have you been hiding your father?
a thought I kept to myself for the Son.
He was an army pilot during World War II.
Father survived the war,
got married, raised a
family of four.
I was happy to meet Father but
death came to soon.
in his own
Have you seen a
grown man cry?
Son was inconsolable.
In Father’s bedroom
there I sat on his bed and lit
a candle to say a little prayer
and left the candle burning
by the bedside table.
WHO LIT A CANDLE!
Scream came out of Son’s mouth
hush, it was me, hush
wishing I could take away his
time to scatter the ashes on top
of the mountain
overlooking the lake.
One by one
the family took handful of ashes
blown to smithereens
carried by the wind.
Mine placed in a small container
for Father’s ashes to bury him
at the cemetery.
At the foot of the Sakura tree
is where I buried his ashes
near Mother’s resting place.
Father’s bible was given to me
in memory of Son’s Father.
There is no answer to Why.
will always remind
me of Father and Son.
For Emily: Ride your windhorse. (Ride the basic goodness in you) The beauty of this is that Javalin is finally learning to be himself, to be a free spirit to be able to have an opinion and a partnership with … Continue reading →
It was a warm afternoon when I suddenly came out of my meditation hearing the voice “Mother T died.” Mother T? Who is Mother T? Where did that voice come from? Perplexed, I ended the meditation and continued the daily … Continue reading →
There are days that I just want to end it all. When that does happen, it’s the little things that stop me on my tracks that brings clarity in this obscure mind that surfaces uninvited. What stopped me this time … Continue reading →
I am finding ways to go through the gift of grief as best I can. The only way I can, for now, is to think of all the kindness of family and friends who shared their love for my cat, … Continue reading →
Who is counting? I for one, not. It is enough for me to see the numbers of thank you notes left here. One. One is the best number. It only takes one to be touched by many filled with gratitude. … Continue reading →