I short circuit sometimes – when life gets too stressful – to a memory that repeats in haunting fashion. It is the lips of the doctor mouthing the words, “These things happen.” His lips are chapped and peeling. The corners of his mouth have white, gummy saliva buildup on them, a sign of dehydration. He has no emotion when he says it, only a tone of defeat. He is explaining that my husband’s death is unexplainable, that sometimes people die even though everything went right. “These things happen.”  

I have tried so many times to write about that first day, that first moment and the tornado of emotions that ripped through me, the shift from a life with Jay – to a life without him – but I can never do it. What comes out instead is more like poetry, the only way I can describe the stark and destructive shift of that moment. It is all images and emotion and grasping for things that are no longer there: 

 

Yesterday is Gone

It is not the transition of twilight that wakes me in my tent

No song of birds or chatter of chipmunks 

The noises I fell asleep to have gone

Banter and bonfires crackling light playing 

Raccoons thieving plastic snack wrappers

And fox searching nose to ground sniffing

Paws padding tent borders for food left behind

By us humans

All gone. It’s all gone.

 

I wake instead to the witching hour 

Dark as obsidian

A war zone of shorebreak waves pummeling rock beaches

Relentless with work of erosion

The sea cliffs beyond my campsite retreating 

 

I wake instead to an airstrike

Rampant wind mayhem 

In towering canopies

Redwoods all worshiping God with

Trunks groaning limbs swaying and leaves 

A psithurism running full speed

The sky amplified surf  

 

My tent rapping on tie downs

Sleeping bag swishing 

Hands blind searching

My phone but it’s dead

Some thing to make light

 

Feeling panicked for flashlights 

For lanterns

For others

 

In search of my bearings

Horizon or other

Just barely

Astronomical twilight would focus 

My hope on the promise 

Of light not just Nature

Who brings Death

Destruction like waves in the night  

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Sonney Wolfe

Sonney Wolfe is a writer, educator, mother, nona (grandma), and widow. She holds a Master of Arts in English, teaches academic and professional writing for the University of Maryland, and writes features, press releases, blog posts, and personal essays for various news and social media. Widowed in December of 2019, she soon joined the masses in COVID lockdowns, which deepened her understanding of grief as she witnessed widespread loss, especially among students. Now, she integrates grief support in her college classrooms by addressing pandemic disruptions, community loss, and mental health challenges. Her autobiographical teaching philosophy, born from her own grief journey, provides a platform to share her experiences and support students who have also lost loved ones. In her professional writing, she sheds light on the human experience of loss and grief, particularly for widows. She explores the complex societal shift they face, transitioning from wives to widows and often single parents. This sudden change forces widows to navigate not only grief, but also a landslide of challenges: income loss, economic strain, relocation, career shifts, altered healthcare needs, and declining mental health. Her Blog WIM Dispatches (Woman in Motion), https://sonneywolfe.com, chronicles her personal grief journey and advocates for the needs of widows, along with her IG: @WIM_Dispatches – and Facebook page: WIM Dispatches Life After Jay.

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