Category Archives: Love

Gail 1948-2025

How long will you linger on the pillow where last you lay your head?

What rose will remind me of the scent of your life that has evolved into dead?

What chime will ring out over the earth

That may likely forget your value; your worth?

Will the blushing dawn sing of the mourning you gave

Will the fiery sunset trumpet over your grave?

Will the willows tell your legend for eons to come

Whispering your legend in branches like drums?

Hats of many colors

I wear a lot of hats in my work life. Three of them are braided together for maximum service. I am a non-medical caregiver/companion. I am a commissioned lay chaplain. I am a Death Doula.

During the course of my relationship with my clients, I learn their quirks, their wants, needs, and their humor. I get to witness their family dynamics working and sometimes dysfunctional. I see them at their most vulnerable. I bathe them, change soiled clothing, help them maintain mobility, and because of and despite the messiness of aging, I fall in love with them and their lives.

As a lay chaplain, I feel comfortable and confident speaking to them about difficult topics such as death, dying, and how they want/need things to go as the reason for hiring me becomes more intrusive on their physical and therefore spiritual journey. I help them articulate what’s most important to and in their lives. To me, it feels holy.

As a Death Doula, I work in tandem with hospice. I help the families and my clients to understand what is happening, what is likely to happen, and insure the end of life is as smooth and comfortable as possible. I sing to my people. I read to my people. I hold vigil and space in silence. This feels sacred to me.

When my person dies, my love does not. Although I make myself available, families often go the way of the winds after my purpose with their loved ones has been fulfilled. The anchor has been lost and they drift away into their new normal. It’s not my favorite part of what I do, but I understand that vulnerability is not comfortable and I’ve witnessed them being so.

This past week I’ve lost two people I loved, cherished, and cared for. I’m currently serving a third. It’s hard. It hurts. It’s living and loving grief in a complex respect and surrender. I don’t have all the answers but I’m good at what I do.

As an accused angel in a meat suit, I will continue to serve, adapt, grow, learn, and embrace my own inevitable death because that breathes life into my soul. This is my happiness and my calling. It is my honor to walk my people home.

Hurricane Gale

I honestly feel like I am the eye of the hurricane 🌀.

No matter what happens around me, it’s going to be how it is.

I have control, such as it is, over my reactions even with big emotions.

I feel centered and balanced.

I’m shifting with the currents, adjusting my sails, allowing the journey to reveal itself as it comes.

I am calm.

This is my peace.

Deconstruction

At twenty-one I planned to die,

with a beer in one hand while getting high.

Nobody could see me, I didn’t exist

I screamed myself hoarse

while in their midst

Ironically, I didn’t tell

the secrets I had borne in hell

Imploding shrapnel from darkest places

Repulsed by misleading “loving” embraces

As I grew older, I refused my name

Pushing anger towards familial blame

I gave away my power

before it could be taken

If someone actually saw me,

they’d surely be mistaken

I never did because I knew I never could

It didn’t matter the effort

no matter how good.

I believed pain was love

because that’s what I was shown

Throughout my childhood

into the adult-self grown

I was Destructive in the sense that I had to tear down who I thought I was, who I believed myself to be. I had to dismantle the neglect, anger, bitterness, and apathy that were hidden under the guise of Love. Some of the wounds still ran blood. Some of them still had the knife protruding from my body. I walked around a victim, convinced I would cease to exist one day and that event would go unnoticed, under-appreciated, and quickly forgotten.

I was lied to, given gossip about my unworthiness for breakfast. I was taught values: The value of my vagina, the worthlessness of being barren, that I deserved wrath and disdain because, after all, I was the one insane.

I was force fed my inferiority until i vomited the parrot back to those whom despised the thought of me. The people who used every flicker of my light to read and implement my oppression. I allowed it, encouraged it because they lied love in the guise of vulnerability.

Despite all of that, I’ve broken that cycle. I know I am worthy of love. I know I am loved. I know I am kind, compassionate, loving, giving, helpful, wickedly smart, emotionally intelligent, with the sense of humor of a 12-year old boy who relishes bad jokes, fart jokes, dad jokes, irreverent and dark jokes.

I have accomplished more in the last five years because I believe in myself, my power, my skill, my experience, and my North Star; my loving heart. And best of all, I have a cheerleading band of friends who both keep me grounded and celebrate my successes in flights of fancy.

What a fantastic journey I have forged from the ashes of my youth. Nourishing the needs of my soul/spirit has been the best present I’ve ever given to myself. It leaks into the world like a floodlight of hope. Even better than that? I know it’s rightfully mine.

Remind Me

I’ll kiss you good night 

Holding you tightly in my heart;

But only if you’ll return.

In the dawning hours,

Brighten the sky

Like you did upon entering a room

At midday remind me

Again of your voice

As a bird lingering in a nearby tree. 

At supper, with the table set,

Join me as the clinking clatter

Of silverware and glasses 

Savoring the living moment.

And at dusk, as clouds draw dark,

Cleanse me with your tears

Shed as fluid reminders

That my love was not in vain

But returned tenfold even still.

Feels

I want to feel what I feel

I don’t want to be told:

It’s for the best

It’s gods plan

Snap out of it

Or insidiously

Get over it

I need to feel what I feel

The well wishers are wrong

Sometimes insensitive

To my patchwork heart

Whose whole is filled with holes

I know change has come

I know, eventually,

I, too, will change.

While I’m here in this moment

So different from what I knew

(Took for granted)

I require feeling what I feel

Without excuses or platitudes.

I am human.

I want to feel what I feel right now.

December is Done

Thank the stars! December was a crap month.

This is a photo of Phoenix that was made into a canvas painting which now hangs in my kitchen along with her collar, tags, and her ashes which has her favorite baby (lambchop stuffie) in the blue velvet bag.

April 29, 2011-December 19, 2024

She was the best girl. She never met a stranger, behaved herself (mostly) when we went on adventures. I inherited her from my friend, Nancy McCord when it wasn’t possible for her to care for Phoenix anymore.

Phoe will always be the girl who gave me back my heart.

When I lost my dear Pumpkin a few years back, I was heartbroken. Phoenix and my therapist helped me to understand that I wasn’t replacing Punky, nothing could, but I was allowing the love to continue.

Phoe loved to rearrange rugs, chase her lamby, go on sniffaris, and generally loved the world. My heart was heavy, but she was getting increasingly confused, fell down the steps of my deck, and became incontinent. I knew it would come, but I didn’t want to say goodbye. I did take her for a great ride around before I brought her to the vets who loved her so much.

I wanted to be okay with it. I felt grief, but I also felt a loneliness for her clicking claws on my floor. I missed her greeting me when I came home from work. I missed her wanting to be on my lap to be loved on.

With a bit of guilt, I started searching for a new extention of love. I wanted to find a small baby to grow old with. I didn’t contact anybody. I went with my Beastie to say goodbye to her 16 year old soulmate, Simmy. We wallowed in our sorrow that Monday.

On Sunday next, I made my usual trek over to my Beastie’s house where she confessed that she was looking at puppies too. With great relief that I wasn’t the only one, we searched, talked, shared, poked about, finally deciding on a Knoxville no-kill shelter where there were fuzzballs.

Before I went to meet the pups, my Beastie went exploring to see what they had “in stock”. She told me I needed to meet Mocha. I reluctantly agreed.

This little dog was in a corner room that had a small poo and a small puddle with a blanket. I agreed to meet her, but I was kind of looking for a baby.

She put her feet on my leg, so I picked her up. She “frog hugged” me. (Front legs around my neck, back legs splayed across my belly).

I thought, “Uh oh.” But the pressure I felt to CHOOSE ME! LOVE ME! forced me not to knee-jerk my reaction. We took her for a walk outside. She behaved brilliantly on the leash. She pottied. I brought her back in and went to meet the wee ones.

This is Finley (Phinley). He is about 8 weeks old (give or take) and living in foster care with three of his siblings. He is cute, cuddly, and so little! I loved him and he kissed me repeatedly.

On my way home from meeting Mocha and Finley, in the still of my racing brain. I knew where my heart belonged. It had been stolen quickly and completely.

Mocha’s profile is regal. Her adoration is apparent on her face. She LOVES to give kisses. The sleeping picture was after a day at the dog park, a pup cup, a new winter jacket (trip to the pet store), and a play session with her friend Keiver and several larger dogs.

Today is Mocha Choka Latte’s gotcha day. Her birthday is December 12 (But I’m moving it to the 19th). She’s an Italian Greyhound/chihuahua mix. She’s a little over a year old. Her adoption was finalized today. I’m in love.

A little history about this love of a pup. She was owner surrender because she bit a child who was feeding her from their hand. The owners wanted her put down. Mocha also nipped one of the volunteers at the shelter when given a treat.

At intake, in November, Mocha weighed in at 10 pounds. Today, after her spay, she’s at 14.4 pounds. I’m going to guess her food insecurity caused her food aggression. I’m already in talks with a dog trainer to see what can be done to guide Mocha to live her best life.

I’m in it till death do us part, so here’s to the continuation of love that Piggy, Punky, and Phoenix all gave to me with all of their hearts.

The Fearless Chalice

Let the light of hope blaze
Fearlessly raised against all doubt
Truth in observance praised
Darkness lost in deepest drought


Let the sacred heart grow
Fearlessly held by mercy’s grace
Kindness to our siblings flow
honoring our different faiths


Let the truth within our lives
Fearlessly show our love to kin
Justice minded as we strive
Vessels of honest reason


Let community be strong
Fearlessly the Chalice light
Guide us to know right from wrong
Even in the darkest night

Nancy’s Earworm

I had a last minute cancellation this afternoon which allowed me to spend time with a woman I met in the course of my work. We had a grand conversation. She asked me if I ever had a song stuck in my head that I just couldn’t get rid of.

“Why yes, that’s called an earworm.” I replied.

She laughed joyously.

“What song do you have stuck in your head?” I prodded.

She started singing. I asked her permission to record her to which she agreed. This is her singing and my video representation of her version of the song: When I Get Too Old To Dream.

Homeostasis

Survival mode stepped to the side
Allowing an informal reprieve from chaos
An acknowledgement of mutual security
The stability that came to dinner
Pulled up a chair and feasted gluttonously
On a childhood fantasy for totemic inclusion
Seized the steadfastness of a kinship
Situated in a sprawled right relationship
Ladling the gravy of laughter over
Legendary stories of affinity
A communion of flavorful moments
Savored in a homemade assurance of loyalty
With an abundance of whipped cream