Another poem about grief. Doesn’t really need an introduction. Like most people, I live with grief. I have my own take on it. Here goes. Loss is not a lack, a gap, with fixed dimensions. Absence comes and goes, grows into a tidal beast, famished crashing waves, eating hearts, licking wounds, seeking, always finding. Then,Continue reading “Loss, by Britta Benson”
This time of year, the days between Christmas and the New Year, is a time of reflection. It is also the time, when those who have passed away are most deeply missed. I do take great solace in remembering the happy moments I had with my mum. There are millions of lovely memories. Here’s justContinue reading “Mum’s smile, by Britta Benson”
Truth be told, ‘More questions than answers’ could be the title for any given day in my life. Today is my mum’s birthday. She would have been 79. I went for a very long walk, and then, once I got back, I put a candle on my window sill. Doesn’t seem like much, but forContinue reading “More questions than answers, by Britta Benson”
A haiku it is, today, to mark Remembrance Sunday. Some occasions don’t require lots of words. Remembrance Sunday Death awakens souls. Lost voices speak forever. We’re the threads of life.
This time, two years ago, I was sitting at my mum’s bedside, waiting for her to die. After fourteen months of fighting leukaemia, my mum had decided it was time to stop fighting. I spent ten very intense days with her, watching her transition from here to there. A quiet death. Dad and I heldContinue reading “In the days, by Britta Benson”
Today’s poem goes hand in hand with my post on ‘Britta’s Blog’ about my grandmother. She died in 1974, when I was four. The first person who died ‘on’ me. I know, my grandfather died just before my first birthday, but I have no memory of him. My mum’s mum was the first person toContinue reading “My grandmother was…, by Britta Benson”
Closer It’s always about distance. We’re bonding over fears of loss. Hope strikes joyful, like a lottery ticket in a back pocket, washed, wishing for thunder, lightning, and a bag of sherbet lemons to share. We hold hands across the time zones of life and death. It’s always about distance. Ask commuters on a rushContinue reading “Closer, by Britta Benson”
You know me, I’m always one to stick to the cheery topics of life, like death, one of my all time favourites. You can’t talk about death without writing a lot about life, so there is joy and opportunity in every tick and tock of the clock, and that’s where my poem started. Enjoy. SingleContinue reading “Single footed, by Britta Benson”