It's late

It's late, the clouds hang in the sky, pink.

the auditorium, bathed in pink.

streetlamps pierce the darkness 

Owen's Pond will be in shadow.

it's good to be in shadow, quiet, no one around.

Just Owen and me here under the pink clouds,

the wind and the night.

What's unseen

we can't see what's under the reflection,

only the bridge above.

we can't see the roots of the trees,

only the canopy in the sky.

we can't see above the clouds,

or behind the door.

we can't see death, our eyes only see life,

but we know there is something

in the water, above the clouds, and 

under the damp earth,

there is life there, life beyond

death, energy, grief only exists

when there is love. 

seeking peace

Missing them so much on Thanksgiving

it's good to be together,

Tom and Susan, Anna and Bill,

Karrie and my own Stephen.

Good people, people I can even say that I love.

But I am missing three others, my son, Daniel,

his wife, Tori, and my grandson, Owen.

Owen, gone from this world, in the wind,

Daniel and Tori, escaped to Mexico for sun and sand,

they are not here, we are not together as a family.

I miss them so much.

my mother, floating in the air

on the glass shelf

she hangs in the air, behind her beloved

Clic, her first dog love, after all the 

men had fallen away, or been pushed.

one never knows.

she's happy and young, with a nice smile

I can remember her that way

it's better that way.

@withlovefromowen

we must not forget the others, the babies

and their mothers that are here, alive and 

needing care.

@withlovefromowen, 365 days of random

acts of kindness, I will walk this child in the 

fall sunshine, while his mother packs,

and I will sing to him as I sang to Owen,

"I love to go a'wandering", and Owen's Song,

and he will look up at the blue sky and

Owen's spirit will be in the air.

Grief lies heavy

no matter how many embraces,

grief lies heavy on my shoulders,

it's a lonely load, no one can carry 

it for me, in the end, it's as if I am suffocating

under a black blanket, struggling to breathe

while watching my own child under his

own blanket of grief, and the mother

under yet more blankets of grief. 

we gaze at each other, make small talk at lunch,

but we know that we are barely breathing,

the shadow of Owen's loss is long.  11/22/2021

The Zones of Regulation

a sorrowful day,

the impact of two losses in three days

an innocent baby, then my mother,

the indominatable Ariane Devaud. 

The best description is that one up there

on the Zones of Regulation Chart,

SAD.

Ariane Devaud - the end of an era

A fiercely independent woman, 

a complex one, Phaedra, the victim and the victimizer,

the one who traveled alone across our country,

and others, who said her mind and forged her

own path.

She taught me this, to never depend on a man.

She showed me this, that education is essential,

regardless of the cost, the time, its usefulness.

she taught me that I never wanted to mother like her,

and I must find my own path in all ways.

these are all good things, she pushed me out

into the world, breech and without a 

second glance.

My mom, Ariane Devaud,

may she rest in peace.

She deserves it.

The third day

Beauty still exists, a flower blooming yet

in November, next to the brown decay of falling

into winter.

it's cold, yet the intricacy of stamen

calls out to me, I slow and stop,

the grief pauses as I study this unexpected

beauty in my garden.

it's the third day since Owen left us,

the flower is out, Owen's parents have

reached out into the world of friends 

and family.

this is beauty and healing.

the second day

a ritual of love and healing, of grief,

of being with, of holding, of passing through,

Owen, my beloved grandson, is no longer with us,

but as I saw the beauty and humanity in Owen's eyes,

I see the natural beauty in the berries clinging

tenaciously to bare branches, the lightest snow 

sparkling on the branches.

today I added a bough of elderberries and a

large leaf tented over the offerings.  

After I sang Owen's song and listened to Owen's 

playlist, I covered the shrine with dried leaves

and strolled the campus, descended the long

bridge to the floodplain that we call home.  11/17/2021

grief

there is no deeper sorrow than to lose a child.

each day an apprenticeship in grief, each day

searching for meaning, for solace, seeking

beauty, seeking ritual ...

as I go to Owen's Pond today, finding a 

tiny crevice under a majestic tree, the tree
I have sat underneath for so many weeks,

praying.

I start a small collection of beauty, of the earth,

of soil, of decay and renewal, the endurance

of the rock, the beauty of the snowberry, its

white purity, a fallen leaf, the end of

summer and time for rest and decay.

I will find Owen here as he has returned to

the universe; in the quiet here, I will pause

and listen to the birds, look for the ducks 

and the turtles, watch the squirrels, 

just as I had described to Owen.

He will always love the stories and the 

love we shared.

I will always love him.  11/16/2021

In grandma's arms

I sang to you, "Owen, ever morning, and every single night,

I think of you, I pray for you." and then..

I told you about Owen's Pond and we talked about

all the animals, one by one

we looked deep into each other's eyes, and I continued..

and the duck came and we sang the same song,

and then the duck came up on the land to see me

and then...

and then the two turtles were on the log and we sang

to you, for you, thinking of you, praying for you,

and then...

the squirrel chatted at me, and we sang our song for you

and then...

the crow flew in from overhead and we sang our song for you

and then...

the big orange koi appeared in the pond and we sang our song for you

and then..

I see your eyelids start to flutter as you fell into a slumber

of trust and love, and I just drunk you in, you beautiful baby

you delicious little darling, I love you so much.  11/15/2021

Up on the heli-pad at Children's Hospital

Before I go, 

let me see the sun set over the mountains,

let me gaze into my mother's face,

the face I have come to know so well, 

the one that smiles at me with tears in her eyes,

knowing that everyone is here for me, 

wheeling meters and IV lines, feeding lines

and blankets, all for me,

I know that I am loved, deeply loved.

Before I go, let me also see my father standing

behind me, knowing he loves me, 

he is a part of me, just as I will always

be a part of him.  11/14/2021

Complaining about the spa service

his parents are such hams,

saying that Owen, in his giraffe bathrobe, has some

complaints about the spa service at the Hospital.

they laugh with him and smile to have these

last moments with him;

I have tears running down my face,

and watching terrible Disney movies just

to escape the pain of losing him, 

of giving him back to the universe.

I admire his parents beyond imagine, that they

might hold their son these last three days and laugh,

in knowing how many hours of karaoke they shared,

and books read, songs sung, how many hours

they sat with him, laid him on their bare skin

and listened to him scream when he got his

diaper changes. 

all my love to all three.

that's the message I sent every day. 11/13/2021

Nuance/pessimism/optimism

 nuance trumps optimism
until I pick myself up from the picnic blanket
and say good-bye to my son,
the one I love so dearly, but who delivers
the reality, that Owen may not make it,
that he has to get off nitric oxide, that 
he has to reduce oxygen, that he needs to 
get off all these medications, and that even 
it he goes home, we don't know if he will outgrow
the hypertension.
so.
I still keep hoping and praying,
I am Owen's grandmother and that is my job
to never give up hope, until or if 
there is no choice. 

Rest up, little One

Rest up, little One,

while grandma sings to you,

rest so that you can heal another day,

so that your lungs grow stronger for a louder cry -

darn those diaper changes! 

and if the howls push the lungs, so much the better, 

little One,

but for now, rest for the fight tomorrow,

the push to go home and sleep in your

little bassinet, listening to the breathing

of your parents, their beating hearts.

Rocking in his mother's arms

there is no better place than in a mother's arms,

and there is no motion more natural than rocking,

a mother rocking her baby in her arms.

when the world seems hard and it's difficult to breathe,

there is no better place to be comforted than in a mother's arms.

this baby Owen feels his mother's warm hands wrapped around him,

the warmth of her body against his side

and as she sings to him, he sleepily responds 

in the language of a baby, his way of saying

mama, I love you, hold me forever.

Driving

yes, of course, I'll be there.

I've never driven so much, and never thought so 

little about it,

not one moments hesitation.

Highway 36 to 270 to 225 to 16th Way

right turn at Children's Way and right into

the parking lot.  

Usually a spot close to the exit.

I'll drive 1h30 to spend 30m with my son,

for the chance to hug him and be with him,

whatever he wants to say, has to say,

to share some sandwiches of buttered bread,

prosciutto and Gruyere cheese slathered in 

ripe avocado, finish with chocolate and carrot/walnut cake, 

to deliver pomegranate seeds to Tori.

it's all I can do, to drive, to love, 

to care.

I can do that.

There is only love

there is only love -

a baby in his mother's arms, the calming

hand of the father on his son's forehead.

the baby, swaddled in white, eyes open,

looking out into this world.

Let us hold this image in our hearts for all time,

the power and endurance of love.  

we can hope for miracles, but must accept

what may come, how we might be separated

in time, as all of us must say good-bye.

Not yet, though, it is not yet time to say

good-bye. 11/8/2021

My darling

my darling, our darling

Owen.

Stay with us, darling, we wait for you

to come home,

as surely as the eagle flew overhead,

the numbers on the phone said so,

darling,

darling Owen, stay with us, next to your

stuffed monkey, feel our strength, our love,

and fight for life,

for blood that flows freely through your lungs,

for infinite moments to spend with us,

to coo in our arms, to learn to walk,

until one day you become a man.

darling, my darling, our darling,

Owen, stay with us,

we love you so much. 

my new office

I need a break.

In my new office, a bike ride away, 

fall leaves raining around me,

away from home, teaching my young mentee

how to think.

I need a break from the endless

energy of balancing hope and reality,

of pushing away worry, to keep the light of hope

burning. 

I love my new office, with it's long table

to work together, my teapot and mug,

my folding bike in the corner.

I went there today for a ten minute meeting

before riding to Owen's Pond 

like I always do.

Don't Mess with Me in a Dark Alley

I may be small, I may be stuck in the NICU,

I may not be able to breathe very well yet,

but look at my arms. Look at my hands.

My  haircut even makes me look tough,

don't mess with me in a back alley.

One day, I will stride through the world

strong with optimism and goodwill.

I will fight, I will fight, next to my papa

for all babies that need our help.

I promise you that.

a baby boy and his dad

one more arterial line has been removed.

one less obstacle to papa/son time, one less

obstacle to free movement.

Freedom by Jon Batiste is on Owen's Play List.

I listen every day.

a baby boy and his dad, the former wearing nothing

but a diaper

the latter dressed for outside, just in from the cold

fall weather, snow maybe falling, or sleet, 

his cold hands on his son's warm hands -

I wonder what Owen thinks of that.  11/2/2021

A wild night

Grandpa Tom said it was a wild Halloween night,

and not in the best way, with splits soaring and sats too low.

Owen had a wild night, not what we wanted

we were waiting for a wild night here at 1935 Grove,

a dog and a pumpkin waiting for little ghosts and goblins

who never arrived.