Let me in

You wear your grief like armor love,

the weight of a thousand lifetimes sitting squarely on your chest

You can’t see it but I do

Your heart caged like an exquisite bird who has lost his song.

You wear your grief disguised as humor love,

sarcasm dripping off your tongue

truth hidden in barbed wire

the man who’s forgotten how to have fun

You wear your grief like silence love,

engulfing you like the beat of a million drums

You can’t see it but I do

I wish you would let me in

to know the strength of my resolve

it’s etched in the colors in my skin

and the absence of all I have lost.

I would navigate these waters with you,

Like a river winding from a great fall

You go your way at times love

and meet me at the shore

I promise to get us downstream

back to the land of living love

back to where you belong…


I am dating a man who lost his wife way too young.  And from everything I have learned about her in this short time she was a light, a beautiful soul. It’s a unique position to date someone who has lost the mother of his young daughters, the person he planned to spend his life. There is no sense of jealousy or competition, just an unconditional acceptance of her place in their world. I want him to talk about her, I want her children to know her every nuance. I want him to feel safe and secure that I know his was not a decision to end a marriage, but a tragic loss that he will never fully recover from. I have no wish to replace her, in fact just the opposite. I wish to embrace her. What she created with him left two beautiful pieces of her heart and soul on this earth to carry on.

Everyone experiences grief differently and as I watch him struggle my heart aches in places I never knew existed. To suffer loss as an individual is one thing and I have suffered great loss, great heartache…but to watch someone you love suffer creates it’s own anguish in one’s heart.

Instinct wants to protect the one you love from such despair yet in the same breath you are fully aware that this journey is their own.

I wrote this for him…



3 thoughts on “Let me in

    1. No… Thank you. At first I read some of your blog posts…and then I was compelled to read them all. I forwarded your link onto my boyfriend (for whom I wrote the poem). He sounds so much like you right now…I ache for him, my heart simply aches watching him suffer and beat himself up over “missed opportunities, mistakes, things left unsaid”. I know my words fall on deaf ears now and that’s ok…It helped so much to read your very raw, honest thoughts and progression…so thank you for being so truthful…you have inspired me.

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