grief | SavvySpoons

I pat my pockets absently for the item I’ve forgotten, rummaging through the detritus on the desk, the overflowing “in case of” items in my bag.

I’m missing something.

I go back upstairs to see if I left it there but nothing catches the faint haunting thought in my brain. Wallet yes, keys yes, gloves yes.

What is it?

I check the bathroom as I often leave things sitting on the windowsill or sink, set aside during teeth brushing or other ablutions.

Nope.

I’m out of time. Whatever it is, I hope I really don’t need it because I’m going to have to leave without it. I open the door, step out onto the porch and freeze.

It’s you.

I’m missing you.

Your absence in my life is still enough of a novelty to send me off in a flurry of activity searching for whatever it is that will make me whole, because I simply never am.

A tear escapes my eye, chased down my cheek by an eager sibling.

Deep breaths.

I don’t have time for grief today.

———— SavvySpoonie 2026

They say the first year of loss is the hardest.

I wouldn’t know, I haven’t made it through the first year. All I can say for certain is that I am still struggling to breathe.

It’s Father’s Day on Sunday and for the first time in my life I will not be writing a poem or baking a cake or choosing a new shirt for the man who gave me everything.

Instead I will be trying to breathe. Trying to force enough air into my lungs to replace the overwhelming need to cry until they give out.

I don’t know where I will be Sunday. Maybe I will be well enough emotionally to visit the bench we dedicated to him at Duck Lake. Maybe I will find solace in cleaning his work room some more, running my hands over the tools he used over and over during his life. Maybe I will be in bed refusing to get up so I don’t have to face my first Father’s Day without my Dad.

All I know is this is still awful, I still hate it, and I’m not going to like it anytime soon.