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Yesterday’s snow became rain
before the temperature dropped
back into the teens, so that
this morning, sunshine glistens
on the icy road over
which I walk—an eighty-year-
old man trying to find his
way during this season of
Joy to the World, while he grieves
the anniversary of
his child’s death, and ponders what’s
next with curiosity
glazed with fear, poking along
flat-footed, carefully pick-
ing his way, concentrating
on not falling, focused on
keeping that icy balance.
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The Geriatric Pilgrim: Traveling the Landscape of Faith and Grief 
🧡
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The feelings you’re able to stir up with your poem’s vivid description is really impressive. 🙂
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That’s when you need a walking frame – be very careful!
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Do you have one of those for the soul?
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I believe there are few things worse than the loss of a child – forgive me for sounding flippant.
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It takes a lot of healing to free us to focus on the gift, rather than the loss. PassionDeathResurrection is all one word. Lifting you in prayer. You are not alone.
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It’s one word, but it’s taken me a long time to learn to pronounce it.
Thank you for your prayers.
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Your willingness to enter deeply into the ongoing process of grieving gives me and others permission to live with and through our continued grief as well. I’m tottering along with you. –Moriah
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Thank you, RIck, for your poem, which speaks to me and the way I am now – feeling useless in my grief while focusing on keeping that icy balance.
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It’s great to hear from you, Bonnie, but sorry for the circumstances. Grief sucks. Period.
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