Archives For Death

This is what it feels like when it’s over and you have to feel it, every bit of it.

It feels like every corpuscle of blood is drained out of your body and you can’t move

or like your body is filled with shattered glass which stabs at your insides

and you can’t numb it, not with the usual suspects. Because you’re clean now, and you won’t throw that away this time.


This is what it feels like when you dream of them holding you

When in reality you never got to feel their arms around you, not once

and you feel so safe engulfed in their arms you weep bitterly when you wake


This is what it feels like when you can only remember that last phone call

And how you strained to say everything that needed to be said. And how impossible that was

The journey between you so complicated that by the time you get to this place

the twisted helix of your relationship snakes around and around until you end up

exactly where you were before

there is only so much that can be said in words


This is what it feels like to finally know you’re crazy.

Because when your neighbor found you in the street wild haired and barefoot

in pajamas and a tee shirt in 45 degree weather

she put you in her car and drove you home while you babbled that you just needed some air

But couldn’t tell her what day of the week it was.

She said you were in shock. which is the polite way of saying, “you are crazy.”


This is what it feels like when you try to remember the good times

And there were far less of them. Mostly you remember the bad

You struggle to remember that yes, there WAS love.

And you battle the ugly memories out of your brain because you want peaceful closure

Not anger. Not now. Not anymore


This is what it feels like when you try to etch out who you are

From what they made you into

You will not be that person. You are evolving into something much higher

You are only the product of what they did to you in that

it gave you a road map of what you will not be


This is what it feels like to not be a mother to your son

Ignoring his pain because you’re lost in your own

You hear him sobbing and can’t even go to him because you’re frozen in time

And you fail him.



This is what it feels like to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling

And tell yourself, THIS is where you will live now.

It’s really just a room in your brain but you have no reason to leave

Keep the shades drawn so the sun can’t get in and remind you that everyone else is still alive

After the sun goes down, pretend to sleep with the television left on all night long

Volume turned off

And replay your own series

of every time they hurt you or made you feel special. Sometimes simultaneously.


This is what it feels like when you can’t eat

Food tastes like ashes

So you drink tea

And wish it were Jack Daniels. At 8 am in the morning.



This is what it feels like when you’re cooking dinner for your kid

And planning his birthday party

That now he won’t get to have

And blasting the Black Keys

And dancing with him around the kitchen

And the phone rings

And your brother says

“mom just died.”

Out of nowhere. She wasn’t even sick.

This is what it feels like

It feels like

It feels.


It feels.


It feels.


I love you all for reading. But comments are closed
I can’t listen today. Another time, okay? 

Actually, it’s 2 minutes and 44 seconds.

Laurie Works witnessed the murder of her 2 sisters. Yes, these things that seem like tragic and distant television news stories, happen to people we know.

Today, on the SisterWives blog, she posted a video of the spoken word poem, “Shell,” she wrote about their death, and her life without them.

It’s raw and unedited. Vulnerable and brutiful. Probably the bravest and most intense thing you may ever see on WordPress.


Please give her your support, and your love.





Comments are closed. Please talk to Laurie. She’s listening.