Some Insights —Jeanette Gross
11/2/21 I keep going back to that feeling of being danced around the living room by my sweet Dad - the feeling of looking down at those big brown dress-shoes with my bare feet holding on….. These memories of Dad feel like a key to unlocking my grief around cancer and other health issues…. Maybe the obsession with trying to figure out my shit with Mom is pointless, it feels more important now to focus on the nurturing I always got from Dad instead of the total lack of it from Mom…. The if-onlys keep coming back to me… If only Dad had still been here when I got cancer…. If only he had been able to support and guide me in real life instead of just in my imagination and my longing. It feels like no matter how hard I try to get what I need from Mom, it will never be enough - she could never be enough - what would all of us have been like if Dad had also been cold and unfeeling? 11/3/21 That first session helped me realize that connecting with feelings about my late Father is so much more important in my recovery from cancer than all the time and energy I’ve wasted on the lack of connection with my late Mother! Coming up on 12 years since he died and 4 years since she died (thanksgiving week 8 years and 3 days apart!). I got more support from him than from her, even though he was up there above the clouds! 11/8/21 What would be different in my life right now if Mom had been more loving? What if I could just accept that she had no love to give, she was damaged and guarded and overwhelmed…. somehow she and Dad found each other and in their differences we 6 kids found the ways to feel taken care of. What if I had no expectation that she would be there for me during cancer when she didn’t know how to be there during other crises, and that even when she was physically there she didn’t know how to be there emotionally. From that place of deprivation, I found the ways to find love in my own life, and knew how to give love…. always knowing I would do things in my own way - my kids would never doubt my love and connection with them during good times and bad… 
mixed media collage, Michelle Alma Rothenberg
Together --Clare Olivares
Together nestled under the peace of a big green tree my mind like a cloud wonders about the mystery of this time and place Waiting patiently trusting in the unbearable, the unknowable like falling out of a window forever forever falling Trusting that the earth will catch me with its sturdy hold This time this place forever falling into the fragility of the unknown into the brokenness of the world. |
Tiger's Tail — Writing our way through
This is a collection of writing from the group of us meeting on Monday mornings to write together. We hope you find solace and strength, relief and humor in these words.
Tara —Mike Rosenberg The rambling minutes lost sequence, Like the sad, scattered cicada chirps she heard last evening, Out of synch with the orchestrated cacophony of mid-summer revelry, Tara needlessly checked her phone-- nothing, The room was silently filling with older patients, Each seemingly more frail and infirm than the last, ‘I am not them, I am younger and stronger’, Her survival instinct reminded her, Tara’s ambivalent gaze meandered to her shoes, Was business attire right for treatment?, Or was it better to come for treatment in workout clothes? Does it matter? Without warning, she felt the room shrinking, Tara remembered being trapped underwater under a canoe, While playing in the lake at camp, Struggling to breathe, but unable to alert anyone to her plight, It had been like this since her diagnosis, Alternatively buoyed by the support of family and friends, Then mired in brooding isolation, Intense emotions fluctuating seemingly by the minute, When her name was called, she felt as if she was watching herself on camera, She shuffled with a bowed head to the treatment room, This was her televised perp walk, But no one was watching. 
Wildflowers, Leonie Holzman
photo, Michelle Alma Rothenberg
Adjustments —Lynda Efros
Perhaps that was why I began to feel so drawn to birdsong, the scamper of squirrels, and the furry felines curled in their own personal circles of sun. I guess the center of me knew what was coming. That this would be the world’s assignment for awhile. To find increased beauty at home. Create a distance And further connection with others at the same time. To recognize smiling eyes peeking over homemade masks on neighborhood walks turned into good natured avoidance. Pray for those that can’t breathe this newly unleashed murderer out of their airways. And applaud those that fight for life for another When it’s only sheer will that keeps them standing. We fall asleep with the shadowed Images of their masked faces and those they care for clinging to life through tubes of solutions and ventilated air. We wish them well. It isn’t enough. It can’t be enough. |
Pay Attention --Clare Olivares
One can live with beauty and horror at the same time
You can wake to the sound of birds
and to the radio's blare recounting death
The rain softly falling on the roof
can mimic the tears of the forgotten
Yes we can stand with a foot in each world
Beauty, Sorrow
I once saw a small dead bird
cradled near its dead mother
No marks, no blood
just stillness and fragility
So sorrowful my heart cracked a bit
but my heart also swelled
at the beautiful iridescent blue wings
and tiny yellow beaks
A heart broken and healed at the same time
one ventricle saying to the other
Pay attention, pay attention.
One can live with beauty and horror at the same time
You can wake to the sound of birds
and to the radio's blare recounting death
The rain softly falling on the roof
can mimic the tears of the forgotten
Yes we can stand with a foot in each world
Beauty, Sorrow
I once saw a small dead bird
cradled near its dead mother
No marks, no blood
just stillness and fragility
So sorrowful my heart cracked a bit
but my heart also swelled
at the beautiful iridescent blue wings
and tiny yellow beaks
A heart broken and healed at the same time
one ventricle saying to the other
Pay attention, pay attention.
Today, March 2020 --Clare Olivares
The dolphins have returned to the Venice canals
bringing joy to a place of despair
Today I saw a beautiful peacock
strutting down my street
with daring and disinterest
My partner bought me a loaf of bread
a sacred offering
not jewel or precious gold
a simple loaf
Gave my neighbor my last packet of yeast
for cinnamon rolls she said
sharing the sweetness at a distance
we will barter and trade as we are able
and look at the world with kinder eyes
Perhaps the world needs to rest awhile
give us time to breathe compassion
into our hearts and souls.
The dolphins have returned to the Venice canals
bringing joy to a place of despair
Today I saw a beautiful peacock
strutting down my street
with daring and disinterest
My partner bought me a loaf of bread
a sacred offering
not jewel or precious gold
a simple loaf
Gave my neighbor my last packet of yeast
for cinnamon rolls she said
sharing the sweetness at a distance
we will barter and trade as we are able
and look at the world with kinder eyes
Perhaps the world needs to rest awhile
give us time to breathe compassion
into our hearts and souls.