Impressions 

In the waking hours of the day

When all seems normal

And bright

I can close my eyes

And instantly

Be 

Struck 

By

Impressions.

Impressions

Of you and

Of

Grief. 

Impressions of metaphors of high seas 

And green pastures.

Impressions of bright golden-blonde hair, and laughter.

Impressions of love and life like dewdrops

On fresh tulips in spring.

Impressions of death.

Impressions of

Dark

Horrors

Too unimaginable to describe in mere words,

But vividly and terribly great and real and here and harsh and evil and now and always there 

In the forefront waiting to wound an already wounded soul, like a forever-sharp thorn in

The rosebush of my mind.

Impressions of terrible memories

Stirring in the not-so-long-distant past.

Searing images dancing like hot flames on consciousness-coals.

But.

Impressions of hope.

Impressions of hope,

Faint,

But growing ever clearer

As the first, faint, blue-gray-and-pink rays of dawn

Slowly strain

To peak over

 A snow covered field;

Growing ever lighter and ever bolder

As the light turns from the gray-pink, to gold, to yellow.

Impressions of a life no longer drowned in grief.

No longer drowned in grief,

But

Informed by it.

Inspired by it.

Transformed by it.

By

Her. 

-The Poet of Windy Blue

I wrote this poem approximately one year after my mom committed suicide. As the poem shows, I was still struggling with flashbacks. Flashbacks to the days immediately after the event, flashbacks to the sights and smells of her house as I cleared it out and cleaned it in the aftermath. Flashbacks to the funeral. Flashbacks to all of the years of her declining mental health that led to that tragic day. However, at this point in my grief journey, I was beginning to have glimpses of hope. Glimpses of better days. Glimpses of days where I no longer drowned in grief.  That is the point of this poem. To showcase not only the horrors and pain that would drag me back to the trauma, but also the small steps forward in the healing process. The little victories. I share this poem to hopefully encourage others that are in the midst of grief. There are days and times that the bad memories seem overwhelming, but in time, and with work, hope will appear if we look for it.