Alphabe-Thursday: Letter G

G is for gestation. And grief, in response to Jenny Matlock’s weekly prompt:

She was beginning to realize grief began its gestation even before someone had died.

Her son would come home daily and tell her about their class tadpoles. How they didn’t look anything like frogs yet. LImbless. Simply gills and crescent shaped. “Hard to describe,” he’d said.

So amorphous then. Like gestating grief? One that while still amorphous, limbless, was already weighted. Especially as her ailing mother would stand at her door waving goodbye, as her daughter was about to drive home from her weekly visit. There were her own children to pick up from school. There was a normalcy she was forced to adhere to.

Her mother, bent over her walker, was in shadow, the setting winter sun sharply delineating her shrunken form from behind her, through the foyer windows.

Then her mother turned to feel the earth of one of her hanging foyer plants, and her daughter felt that weight. Especially after this last blood clot in her mother’s arm. The one that could have travelled up rather than down and caused instant death. She felt that weight now every time she left from her weekly visits, of whether she would ever see her mother again.

About Sandra

Author;editor of The Woven Tale Press at; mother; weaver
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10 Responses to Alphabe-Thursday: Letter G

  1. Erin says:

    This is very touching and beautifully written.

  2. Bee says:

    I like the idea of grief gestating, and how it can also be amorphous.

  3. Hi Sandra,

    When you write about your mother or mothers in general you take me back to the last few years of my mother’s life. It’s bitter-sweet reading – it’s real, raw life. Yes, the grieving begins before the actual death. And guess what? After the death of my mother, I found that something of her life remained here in this life. That’s not to say I didn’t cry daily for a year after her passing. I missed her real presence terribly and still do. As you know, I’ve written about her a few times at my blog,

    You might find comfort in reading a novella I’ve just published, The Setting of the Sun. It’s available at Amazon for Kindle ($4.99 or free through the Kindle lending library) and in paperback ($7.95). The book adresses life, love and death. I hope I struck a positive tone – it was my intention to.

    No need to post this comment, though I don’t mind if you do. My intention in sending it is to help you with (and to share with you) the process of letting go of our mothers, while forever holding them in our hearts.

    Best wishes in the New Year, Mary

  4. Kathy says:

    This post reminds me of the last days of my mom and dad’s lives. A bittersweet post but so poignant.


  5. Do you collate/expand these posts into books at some point?
    Cheers, Gordon

    • Sandra says:

      I print them all out, Gordon, as I write them; yes, I think at some point they will make their way into my next book. I’m just not in a place now to mentally sit down and actually think about which way it will go…so I just keep writing.

  6. Oh man.

    This made me cry.



    And so very real.

    Thank you for sharing your heart here.


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