I didn’t expect the undertow to be this strong when the first wave of grief receded.

Six weeks ago, the first tsunami of my grief for Mom overtook me. I developed bronchitis, a back ache, fatigue. I took to bed as much as possible, and I dragged around at half energy, or less, for more than a month. Around me, the undone tasks accumulated—housework and paperwork, correspondence and processing photos. I walked along the bottom of the ocean, in company with my grief.

The profound depths of it astonished me. Mom’s death was not unexpected; I’d had years of grieving for her declining health. I’d gotten through the initial sense of dislocation and fog and pain, planned her memorial and even overcome my anxiety about singing in public to sing with my sister at the service.

And then it all hit, and I sank. I struggled with physical ill health and the enormity of the loss. My family remained an anchor, though my loss of spirit affected them all.

After more than a month, and two weeks of antibiotics, I felt like I’d come up for air. Much better, inspired by a new story, energized by a professional critique, I wrote like mad for several days and felt like I’d bounced back.

Bounced was right—now I’m plunging down again. At least I caught my breath.

Sixteen days after my mom’s death, I wrote this pantoum:

Generations

My first daughter is learning to drive.
But, my mother has died.
I’m practicing to sing in her service,
Honoring the loved one with a lullaby.

But, my mother has died.
How can I sing without a cry?
Honoring the loved one with a lullaby
I am blessed with a glimpse of her.

How can I sing without a cry?
The woman I knew returns to earth and sky.
I am blessed with a glimpse of her
In a memory, implanted in my heart.

The woman I knew returns to earth and sky.
I imagine her spirit dancing in ease.
In a memory, implanted in my heart,
I breathe the scent of her.

I imagine her spirit dancing in ease
And bless her journey.
I breathe the scent of her;
I consider how I am me because of her,

And bless her journey.
Her place is now with the ancestors.
I consider how I am me because of her,
And I’m dreaming of who my daughters will be.

Her place is now with the ancestors.
I’m practicing to sing in her service,
And I’m dreaming of who my daughters will be.
My first daughter is learning to drive.

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