Posted in death and dying, inspirational, Writing for healing

I’m Still Here, She Used to Say


May 6th, 2019

There’s nothing more to say after my moody and sleepless weekend. Now I know why that restless spirit lurked.  She passed away early Saturday morning.

I liked to call her my auntie even though she was my mother’s cousin.  For a while it seemed that her concern for status and a certain type of propriety would dim my need for Sunday chats. Having someone to talk with, to chew the fat with, to simply say hello to became more important than any mutual tales of glory or woe.

She defied the odds,  continuing to breathe on her own for over a year after they took her off the oxygen. She lingered on, clear-minded, in her own home, with caretakers coming in and out. She persevered through visits and outings, ignoring the whispers and patronizing statements-the way people talk to old folks, loudly, sounding as if the encapsulated soul is some kindergartner needing to be chastised for squirming.


I’m still here she used to say

long after any morning happiness

ceased, leaving a darkening doubt.


I’m still here she used to say

and we would make jokes about surviving

day after day, hour after hour, a gaze, a shift, a sigh groaning into  slumber- yet- like a mean-spirited joke being played out against her will,

she would awaken.

I’m still here, she used to say,

long, long after a lonely dusk, the ancestors and angels gathered her in their welcoming glistening arms–

she’s free!


I made it this far and plan to keep going. I believe nature heals the soul. I love to journal, to write, do art, and music. I'm not afraid to tackle tough subjects. Solar-powered & drive hybrid. Trying to do my part. Earned my BA at 53. And, I believe, it's never too late to have a happy childhood.

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