Sunday, August 23, 2020

The staircase

It's almost a year since my mother-in-law passed away.  Q and I have been fortunate to go through a rigorous process of grieving and loving during this period with tremendous support from many of you. It's not easy, but I'd like to think that we are doing our best embracing it. 

This afternoon we gathered with a handful close neighbors and friends, said goodbye to the house where Wads and Bart have spent more than 40 years. After everyone else left, I was able to connect with the house, sitting on the worn-out floor, walking through the empty rooms, looking out the tainted windows... The poem below is a reflection of the connection. 

This is for you - those who have loved Wads, and those who have loved. 


The Staircase 

I barely fit 

On the midnight blue staircase step 

Where she used to sit

Taking her sigsig break

After our dinner together

While I shuffled around in her kitchen

The evening quietly cleaned up.

The scent of thin cigarette propagated

Down the hallway's shadows

Mesmerizing my senses

What is going through her mind

When she inhales


Inhales again.

I used to wonder.

I am still wondering.

Maybe some questions are best 

left unanswered.

They remain the beautifully 

unfinished void

Connecting us

Through time and space

Through life and beyond.

I inhale, 


Inhale again. 

Following the faint scent of sweet smoke 

I find her again

Sitting on the midnight blue staircase step 

Next to me

Leaving in my hands

A gentle squeeze. 

View into Wads' garden