grief – Jo Ind

For those waiting to be mothers

Jo Ind — Sun, 15 Mar 2015 11:20:07 +0000

Mother’s Day has become that day each year when I hold in my heart all those who long to be mothers and who are waiting…. Here is a poem for you.

One day I shall look back at this time

At the waiting

And the counting

And the bleeding

And the longing

The trying

And the not-trying

The loving

And forgiving

And I will say that it made sense.

I know the time will come again

When my womb will be holding

The secret hope,

The possibility of miracle,

Origins so awesome

That only God can know.

But today my vulva

Is tender-lipped

Heralding blood.

And today is the day

I have to live

Right now

Learning to embrace

My own body and grieving dreams

With the fierce

Unconditional

Over-whelming

Mother’s love

That is present

That is ready

That is now.

Why I am loving the summer rain

Jo Ind — Fri, 13 Jul 2012 09:37:03 +0000

Here are seven reasons why I have been just lovin’ this soggy summer.

1) The knowledge that the reservoirs have been re-stocked and the ground is rich and moist makes me feel safe and replete.

2) In the fleeting moments when the sun DOES shine, the grass is all the more verdant, the colours deliciously intense.

3) I can’t run at the moment because – seven months on – I’m still recovering from an injury. The rain makes this a tiny bit less frustrating.

4) Due to that same running injury, there is only one pair of shoes I can wear at this point in time – and those shoes require socks. I’m glad it’s chilly.

5) I had vowed to make progress in my garden this summer but – as ever – haven’t had time. I feel all this rain kinda lets me off that one.

6) Sports Day was cancelled.

7) I am at a stage in life when I feel sad and full of grief. The rain has made me feel that the world is weeping with me.

Image on blog menu page @Skippy3E

I have had worse partings, but none that so Gnaws at my mind still

Jo Ind — Fri, 15 Jun 2012 10:36:49 +0000

There is a grief that runs all the way through motherhood.

The grief in going up to the loft to exchange the 0-3 month old baby-grows for the 3-6 month ones, the grief of withdrawing the breast and saying: “No more,” the grief of a child’s first day in school.

It is widely accepted that many parents need to grieve when their children leave home. “Why wait til then?” I say.

I have wept over a boy becoming so bonny and chunky he has to be moved from his Moses basket into a cot, over him becoming so independent he no longer finds it necessary to curl my thumb within his hand.

I am grateful to a friend who gave me this poem when I was puzzling over why something as good and natural as a child growing up should also be so poignant.

It is the kind of question that only a poet can answer. What better answer than this could there be? Walking Away by C D-Lewis.