The World Beneath My Tree

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Magnificent Mesquite

Last night I dreamed I was dying. As the world fell away around me, I was free-falling. I thought to myself, so this is what it feels like to die. Dreams of experiencing your own death usually means that big changes are ahead for you. You are moving on to new beginnings and leaving the past behind. This could not be more true than it is today. There was a time not long ago I obsessed over my career; now, I obsess over developing my writing talent.

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The Waystation for Lost Souls

borough of Narberth
Six months after my husband’s death, I move to a small town in Pennsylvania, located on the main line. Narberth is charming and quaint in an old world sense. It immediately reminds me of a town that played a major part in my childhood. Mayberry from the Andy Griffith Show was my fantasy of where life was pure and good. Aunt Bea, Sheriff Andy, and Opie were my escape from a life far different from what they portrayed .
My apartment, located on the third floor of a walk up at 280 Haverford Avenue, overlooks the downtown area. It is the perfect place for me to begin the long healing process from his suicide.

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Memories of a Life Together, 2003

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Memories of a Life Together

-Linda Lee Lyberg, 2003

Another milestone in our lives,
7 years together.
Loving, Laughing
Screaming, Crying-
More Laughing. Read More

Un Pequeño Milagro (A Small Miracle)

Gypsyrose
The Gypsy Rose Restaurant
Since I began writing this blog, I have been on a journey through my colorful past. I search for photos to post that pertain to my particular story. I run across others that are meaningful and bring back memories of those I have lost touch with over the years.
One such photo was the man who was not my father walking me down a leaf strewn path on September 28,1996. There, waiting on the banks of the Perkiomen Creek was my future husband, Pete. It was an outside wedding at the now shuttered Gypsy Rose Restaurant.

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My Mother’s Ashes

mom box
My mother sits beside me as I write. She is comfortably ensconced in a beautiful wooden box; ashes are all that remain of her mortal body.
Yet, I cannot bring myself to dispose of these shards of bone and heaps of grey dust.
They were once her and so they stay.

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The Crow and I

croweye
I am meditating in the garden. I hear a fluttering near me and open my eyes. There, beside me, is a large black crow staring, cocking his head, peering at me curiously. He speaks.
“What are you doing?”
“I am meditating, what are you doing?” For whatever reason, I am not frightened nor surprised. Have I lost my mind?

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Grief

Grief is a Tricky Thing
When you least expect it
There it is rearing its ugly head
Reminding you of the dead.
Draining you of your life
Laughing at your strife.
But when it is gone
A seed is planted
watered with your tears
and in its place
a garden grows.
Grief is a Tricky Thing.
– Linda Lee Lyberg,1994
weeping angelThe months following my husband’s death fill with a cacophony of emotions. Ragged grief grips me at unexpected times. I scream and shed unceasing tears, trying to drown out the unanswerable questions that fill my head. Why, why why? Am I responsible for his death because I didn’t go to him? Could I have saved him if I had? Grief and guilt are a powerful elixir. Once you drink  of them, they are your companions for life.

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