Life in the Bardo

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Holly Grantham -Life in the Bardo3

I remember how the floor gave way
the moment my mom died
She stopped breathing
and I fell into
a deep nothingness
Around me stood the shells of
my brothers and sisters
To my left, sat my dad
crumpled in upon himself
And all of us hung suspended
in space both liminal and raw
our eyes and ears thick with grief
Then, the thick silence
the one that had wrapped the room
slipped slant
when an errant car horn honked
outside the hospital window
An interruption that hinted at a
world still spinning
I remember hearing it
I do not remember understanding

It is in these spaces
just after the
what was
and before the
what will be
That we feel the rupture so severely
What we wanted
What we imagined
no longer is
Everything is dismantled
all that we have is
Now

This is life in the bardo
where we are entombed between
endings and beginnings
We inhale grief and
exhale surrender
and slowly
we are distilled by the
in
and
out
The desperate grasping
slows
The light turns
corners
It finds our inbetween places
The loam of emptiness is
where the unruly strands of our endings
bend
and
bow
It is there that
we can
begin
again

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Holly Grantham
Holly is a wife, very relaxed homeschooling mom of three boys, snapper of photos, coming of age writer and a soul drowning in grace. After years in Atlanta where she attended college, married the love of her life and lived in an intentional community, she found her way back to her home state of Missouri. She now lives in an antebellum stone house, raises chickens (sometimes) and pretends that she lives in the country.
Holly Grantham

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