Ten Years

Ten years.
Damn.
It doesn’t feel like ten years.
My body remembers.
Remembers like it was a few months ago.

My chest remembers.
The ache.
The brokenness.
The questions.
The tears… oh god, the tears.

Somehow it was my fault, I’m sure of it.
I’ll never forgive myself.
I don’t expect anyone else to either.

Longing became joy became fear became… emptiness.

Ten years.
Ten years ago, I learned love.
Ten years ago, love left me.
Ten years ago, I became someone new.

It sneaks up on you.
The grief.
The memories.
It sneaks up and pounces and shakes you between its teeth.

I get back up, bruised and shredded.
I’m a better person now, I mutter. I’ve grown.
Yes, I get back up and stumble.

Maybe today I’m on my knees.
But I get back up and keep walking.


tara caribou | ©2021

Okay… this is the last grief post from me for a while… I think. I feel bad, kinda, for off-loading all this on my readers. Thanks for reading and your continued kindness.

41 Comments on “Ten Years

  1. I think it was Jim Harrison who said something along the line that he enjoyed writing fiction because it gave him a chance to live as someone else while his poetry was all him and bleeding those veins could be exhausting. Stay well.

    Liked by 4 people

  2. I agree with Jennifer! Please write what you want lol who cares what this bunch want? Lol but seriously, your mental health is much more important 🙂

    Liked by 3 people

  3. you have no idea how relevant this is to me right now. thankyou for posting – do you have any idea how much good can come of sharing such things, how much it helps people when everything around them feels like it is collapsing? it is never simple, it is never unambiguous – but ‘i get back up’. what other option is there? thanks 🙂

    Liked by 4 people

      • i have recurring stuff – it always sneaks up on me to the point where i have calendar reminders for a couple of times a year, because i hate being blindsided by my subconscious which never seems to miss an anniversary … you say ‘i feel bad, kinda, for off-loading all this on my readers’ – one of, not the only, reason i am here is because what you write resonates so much and its obvious i am not alone in that. its not off-loading, its sharing – where would writing be if all that was taken away? if people don’t like it, and i guess there might be some, then they have that choice – but don’t lose yourself in this because in all the darkness that still shines so bright – its your writing, no apology, no bad feeling necessary. again .. thankyou.

        Liked by 1 person

        • Thank you for understanding. I know it always somehow helps to know that I’m not alone, in any of this.

          Yeah, I was feeling off. And then it just blindsided me when I realized… it’s been ten years.. ten fucking years.

          Liked by 1 person

  4. Tara, writing things out helps with grief, so write about it as long as you feel the need to do it. I lost someone close nine years ago and I know what you mean about the grief sneaking up on you.

    Liked by 2 people

  5. I have had so much heart-ache myself. Wish I could say it was 10 years ago for myself but I either attract the wrong ladies or I’m jinxed, cursed, hexed, plagued etc. I’m sure you will find love somewhere. somehow – you are lovely and talented. As for me I think my heart is closed for repairs.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Hi Roger, yes we all have different forms of grief, that’s for sure. The loss of a child is something I would never wish on anyone, whether they are 30 minutes or 30 years old, it’s an incredibly heavy path to walk. But the loss of a spouse, friend, parent, pet, home, innocence, etc… those are all their own types of grief as well. May we always hold sympathy in our hearts for those who may be hurting in different ways than our own. 💕

      Liked by 1 person

  6. The pain never leaves you Tara – just somehow becomes accepted. And, of course, writing and getting those emotions out is a vital part of our being. Take care.

    Liked by 2 people

  7. Damn the tens: they add up; I’ve gotten past four. Dry eye comes from filling the ocean in lachrymose years and yet the water level doesn’t rise much. Hard to imagine the millions of chests in the world rising and falling, crest fallen, and the spasms of grief like hiccups. The faults are in the twinkling stars I’d prefer to think though the cosmic humor is difficult to understand, the answers too far away on another planet of understanding. The birds are chirping again — maybe they can speak to the answers or are they laughing.

    Liked by 1 person

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