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Life & Events > It Was 1993

It Was 1993

I guess the poem I wrote the year I lost Jay is kind of parochial. But here it is anyway.

play me an old song,
recapture the past,
remind me once more
of things that will last,
think of us as we were then,
always together, together again
I hear your voice
your face is my heart,
Play me an old song
we’ll never part

I used to keep a journal and since I started blogging and writing to newspapers and posting on Facebook, these efforts satisfied my urge to write and the journal effort faded.

I have a box full of notebooks in the garage dating back to the 70s. I used to carry a notebook that I considered my friend. No matter where I was, waiting in line, on the subway, in a doctor’s office waiting to be seen, I’d pull out the notebook and write. I had also read that keeping a journal helped hone one’s writing skills and I wanted to be a writer.

Later everything went into the computer. For some reason I looked up my computer entries yesterday and these date from 1993, the year I lost Jay. So I was reading about myself as I was then. I do write about being tired but that, it appears, didn’t stop me from doing prodigious amounts of work and totally organizing the loft protest I and my neighbors entered into against our landlord – phone calls, visits to architects, collecting checks to pay the lawyer. Just reading about it makes me want to take a nap.

I write about the people in my life then, the office politics, the work there, my thoughts on the absence of comfort from friends for my loss because when you grieve, many times it’s too much for others to absorb. Even my sis didn’t have the emotional strength to be there. She did, however, cut short a phone call because her neighbor, who had recently been widowed, needed her. And I was thinking, what am I? Chopped Liver? I forgive/forgave her because she did the best she could with the marbles God gave her and she’s gone now and I miss her.

If I start keeping a journal again, and I think I will, I’ll be sure to enter last names and maybe some peripheral information, because I am wondering, who the hell was Gladys?

So much for journaling.

xx, Teal

posted on Oct 30, 2017 6:55 AM ()


Nice, you should write more stuff. 1993 wasn't so very long ago, actually.
comment by drmaus on Oct 31, 2017 7:20 PM ()
The poem made me feel nostalgic as well. It is lovely. No one really understands the grieving process. I kept one of Bobby's dirty tee shirts and an empty can of Snoose. The times that the missing is so acute, I smell that shirt and somehow it brings me closer and comforts me. My Dr.said a lot of comforting things to me and my friends rallied
round, especially my sister. I was grateful for it all.
comment by elderjane on Oct 31, 2017 9:35 AM ()
One thing that triggers grief for me, is coming across notes in Jay's handwriting when I'm looking for something else.
reply by tealstar on Nov 14, 2017 11:37 AM ()
And by the way, I love the poem.
comment by troutbend on Oct 30, 2017 9:27 AM ()
You've reminded me of my long-neglected hard copy journal. I visited it only occasionally, but I enjoy looking through it.

It concerns me that the digital age has caused so many of us to move away from hard copy photographs and journals. Our electronic personal memories and stories are buried in computer files that our heirs might not know exist or be able to figure out how to access.
comment by troutbend on Oct 30, 2017 9:26 AM ()
I'm going to start writing my day-to-day musings again in a journal. It really comes in handy when I want to remember something. You can always print out what you put into a Word document and keep a hard-copy notebook. Thanks for kind words about the poem.
reply by tealstar on Oct 30, 2017 1:20 PM ()

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