A Meadowlark Mother's Journey

Monique Miyake attended the Meadowlark Mother’s Retreat held in February of 2023. She was looking for healing after the loss of her 17-year-old son Ohia who died in April 2022.

Immediately following her son’s death, Monique began daily journaling as a way to remember him, stay connected to him and record her grief experiences. She often starts a day’s journal entry by writing “Good Morning, Ohia or Good Morning, my love.”

On the morning of February 12 of the retreat, Monique was inspired by her experience with the other retreat mothers, the natural beauty of the retreat location in Sebastopol, and she found herself writing a poem to her son.

She decided to share the poem with the retreat mothers and read it out loud during one of their sessions. Monique likes to read her poems out loud as It feels like she is giving voice to her feelings for the universe to hear.

Monique offered to share that poem with us, hoping to shed light into the grief experience and to share about her son Ohia.

Monique recommends you read the poem out loud as she would so that it will be repeatedly shared with the universe.

What can I say to you, my love?

I am watching the sun rise on the tenth month from that tragic day.

I am sitting in an apple orchard. The cold mist.

A yellow ball of sun rising over the hills. Birds are calling. Are they calling for you? As I call for you?

Reaching. Reaching. Reaching.

Just beyond the great beyond.

The world keeps turning, turning away while I turn towards you.

Last night sleeping in the sugar shack I felt you close by.

Not a memory. Not a vision.

But the comfort of being tucked in at night. Some essence of you.

A joy. A softness. Some touch of goodness.

The settling of darkness to hold me through what was and whatever is coming.

Can I remember the soft light of dawn? The curves of the hill?

I want to move my body in the rhythm of gentleness.

Hold my sweet sad fleshy body close. Dance in the half-moon light.

Twirl like the branches of a twisted apple tree yet to bear fruit.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

For the perfect moment to release a bud. To grow into delicious sweetness.

Red shiny skin to cover the hard-won fruit of all our longings.

Our longing for our one perfect love. The splendid taste of our most precious love.

We are mothers weeping.

Never forgetting what was and what could have been.

The seed in our bellies grown.

We release to the wind to be carried to its destiny.

Not ours. But yours.

Meadowlark Retreats are grief support weekends for those who have suffered the sudden loss of a child. The Tim Griffith Foundation offers separate retreats for mothers and fathers. Get more information about upcoming Meadowlark Retreats here.

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