Rooted and Gentle Sadness

Here I am,

all these years since you died on

that heart wrenching spring day,

and I miss you.

Though the ache is less potent,

I have a rooted and gentle sadness.

I’m so grateful that our lives came together

by the shores of Saddleback Lake,

that you had the patience to wait

for me to understand how

to accept your unconditional love.

I wish you could be standing with me,

hand in hand,

to witness our beautiful children

further widen into their lives

with passions to follow

and loves of their own.

Sometimes I wonder if you

would know me now,

would love this rather different me.

And then I smile with the knowledge

that you knew all of me the whole time.

I do believe in the sensations of your presence,

in the radiance of change,

and in all the other understandings I’ve gleaned

through years of exploring

within and without.

But sometimes I just want your arms around me,

to feel the physical connection of your love,

to be together in the here and now.

This rooted and gentle sadness

is not wrong for me to feel.

I haven’t failed at grieving.

It’s just part of my shadows

and, in truth,

enhances my light.

As we all do, Sarah Carlson has many pieces to her whole. Those pieces include: mother, teacher, daughter, friend, widow, sister, skier, bicyclist, hiker, coach, drummer, and poet. Sarah lives in the western foothills of Maine where opportunities to make connections amid the splendor of the rivers, lakes and mountains are plentiful. She began writing and combining her poetry with photographs of her experiences in the natural world as part of healing from the sudden loss of her husband, Barry. Sarah posts her poetry and photography on her blog and her book, The Radiance of Change, is available here.