Mama With Trauma

03/27/2026

01/06/2026

I heard some kids playing outside the morning that I scribbled this on a Cracker Barrel napkin. I titled it “Again and Again”

the world is round
and i have walked
the same circle of loss
so many times
i could trace it
with my eyes closed

grief does not move in straight lines
it loops back
pulling me to memories
i still hold
like fragile glass

some mornings
i am sure
i will never find my way out

and still
the sun rises

it does not ask
if i am strong enough
it simply arrives
spilling light
into the places
i swore would stay dark forever

i make coffee
water the plants
touch the tiny pieces
of a life
that kept going
even when i didn’t

the world moves gently
around me—
neighbors checking their mail
children laughing
cars humming down the road

and for a moment
i remember
i am not the only one
learning how to live
with a broken heart
stitched back together
by love i can no longer hold

every night
i look to the sky
searching for the two lights
that guide me

they do not speak
but they steady me
with their quiet presence

and i realize
healing is not the absence
of missing them

healing
is learning to walk
with their light
beside me

as i make my way
Around this world
again

and again

and again

(I used this poem I’d written to write song lyrics that I turned into an actual song. I’m very pleased with how it turned out❤️ creating beautiful things from this grief is so helpful and comforting to me https://suno.com/s/0bNDmDvdnSuJp43B)

01/05/2026

I turned a poem into a song! I described in detail exactly what I wanted it to sound like and used ai to bring it to life!

12/15/2025

What the Sock Knows

Sometimes the smallest things remain,
a quiet thread, a scrap of proof,
a single sock the world mislaid
that whispers love instead of truth.

I find you where you shouldn’t be,
behind the couch, beneath the bed,
as if you slip back home to me
from someplace kinder than the dead.

I tell myself it’s just a thing,
some cotton lost to passing days,
but grief believes in everything
that dares to find me anyway.

This pair was made to touch the floor,
to steady steps you never took—
tiny letters, rubbered words,
a promise printed where I look.

I wonder how I’ll know your face
when time releases what it stole.
Will you be small? Or grown? Or both,
when I arrive with all my love?

So when your children rush inside
and shed their lives along the door,
remember nothing ever stays
the way it lived there once before.

A breathing child, a laugh, a name
can shrink to echoes we still feel:
a sock, a photo, borrowed dream
that proves the love was once so real.

We only ever have this day.
This fragile now. This open hand.
And those we love, however brief,
still find us
in the way they can.