The Makeover

I Saw Her Today of All Days

The unfinished business of grief

If you’ve been reading my more recent stories, you’d have noticed grief, death and dying have been recurring themes. It’s not what I like writing about, but the truth is I need a way to process the events of the past few weeks. A lot has happened.

It was a month ago, a week before Christmas, when the incident in this current story took place. It reopened a grief wound — one I knew hadn’t healed. Do you ever really heal from grief? Isn’t grief more like ongoing unfinished business?

I came home that day upset from the encounter I’d had. I needed an outlet so I put pen to paper and wrote the beginning of a free verse poem that read like a story recount. The first line came easily — ‘I saw her today.’ The rest followed in a stream of words until I reached ‘but’ and stopped.

I planned on coming back to the poem. I wanted to explore the complexity of emotions that had resurfaced. I felt I needed to confess — to put it out there in black and white — to be accountable — to find a way to make amends. I was a whirlpool of grief, regret and confusion.

The next morning, a dragonfly flew past my kitchen window.

It set off a fresh torrent of grief-induced thoughts which set off my muse and together we came up with a new poem. The first line was easy — ‘I saw a dragonfly today.’

By day’s end, the poem and an accompanying fable were published. I dedicated the poem to several people I knew who had passed away or were at death’s door — one of them was the son of the ‘her’ in the ‘I saw her today’ poem.

I thought I was done.

I thought the dragonfly story was enough. That I wouldn’t need to come back and finish the poem I had started.

I was wrong.

Th event — and the incomplete poem — kept coming back to me. Unfinished business.

My conscience told me I owed it to myself to finish the poem. I owed it to ‘her’ and her son. It might not ease the discomfort but it would be an explanation of sorts and maybe, just maybe, a pathway to healing.

Believe me, I thought long and hard about preparing this story for Paper Poetry’s The Makeover prompt. The prompt invites writers to revamp a poem they’ve written and present it as a before/after story.

I hesitated because it’s my name on the prompt announcement. I didn’t want it to look like a stitch-up — that I’d written the prompt to suit myself. The prompt was, in fact, Indubala’s clever idea. It just happened to coincide with work I needed to do on myself. 🙏

‘I Saw Her Today’ Before-After Makeover Story

First off, my ‘before’ poem — the unfinished, unedited, unformatted, original version of the poem as you see it written in my scrappy handwriting in the header image —

I saw her today It took me unawares I can’t imagine what it did to her She was lost in her own space I jolted her back here and now “Hi,” I said cautiously from the confines of a self-imposed face mask disjointing memory a fleeting hesitation “It’s Carolyn,” I prompted hoping my eyes looked like a smile Years had passed maybe three, if not four since I’d seen her and covid had hijacked our lives Has she forgotten? Is it my hair? Oh, this is awkward. “I know,” she said flatly but…

And now my ‘after’ poem — the revamped, completed version —

What were the odds of our crossing paths today a loop in time we wouldn’t live again

I was in a hurry She was passing through I was there and present she was someplace else

“Hi,” I said her name my face mask a memory barrier to our past

No response

“It’s Carolyn,” I prompted, nodding recognition smiling eyes and waiting

Years had passed, three or four, since we’d last spoken pandemic mayhem disarraying both our lives ‘I don’t think she remembers. Is it my unruly hair? No, it’s probably the glasses. Oh, this is awkward,’ rabbity inner commentary overran my thoughts

Then

“I know,” she said, the words weighted lead yet hollow deaden wood her face masked blank without a mask

Except

her eyes they locked onto mine I could feel them drilling for an answer to a question she couldn’t ask before thereupon retreating to her other place of somewhere else

Traces of her question synthesised, catalysed, formed real inside my head

I know, do you?

From her question hung my answer and with it, oh my Lord, the searing stab of truth

‘I know about your son I know, dear God, I know.’

Only

I couldn’t tell her that I knew it not between the heritage tomatoes, the ripening avocados, and bunched choi sum

I couldn’t do it Not to her Not to me Not there, not then

I feigned interest in bulbous organic garlic inhaled fresh coriander social chit-chat back ’n’ forth “Lovely seeing you again,” while in my hand a heart-shaped red capsicum

© Carolyn Hastings 2023

This is, in effect, my confession to the mother of Jason, a boy I knew who took his own life a week before Christmas 2020. He was 21 years old.

Connecting the dots: the day I saw Jason’s mother at the produce store would have been the second anniversary of his death. Little wonder she was ‘someplace else’.

What do you say to a parent — in this case, a mother — who has lost a child under such harrowing, tragic circumstances — any circumstances? ‘Sorry for your loss’ just doesn’t cut it.

Apart from social pleasantries, I chose — I actually chose — to say nothing because I was overcome by my own reaction. I didn’t trust myself to say the right thing — is there any such thing as ‘the right thing’? I didn’t trust myself not to tear up. I didn’t want to put her ‘on the spot’. I definitely did not want to distress her even more. Not there.

Was I protecting her or was I protecting myself? Would it help to contact her and tell her what I couldn’t tell her in the store? Why would I do that? To salve my own conscience or show her I care?

What would you do? 🙏

Invitation to the Makeover Prompt

For those interested in giving a poem you’ve written a new lease on life — or, as I have done, put myself through an interrogation of conscience — please consider participating in Paper Poetry’s The Makeover prompt. It runs until the end of January so there’s still a good amount of time left. You can learn more about it here –

See what others have done to rework their poems and souls — this one, Between These Lines, by Janice Fung —

and this one, Rewrite for Growth, by Thalia Dunn —

Thank you for reading. Please feel free to leave a comment. I greatly value your thoughts and perspectives. 🙏 💕

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