Mending Heartache with Poetry

It was the death of my friend, Shirley, in 2011 that set me on this project of both honoring my loved ones and healing my grief. To my happiness, the project also brought me to a joyful, grateful state.

Shirley was ill with cancer. We knew her death was imminent and our small collection of college friends waited anxiously for The Call from her husband, Tom. As a poet, I used my skill to write poems about my friend, not to be shared with her, but to assuage my own sadness, poems that reminded me of Shirley’s caring nature and how death couldn’t erase those memories.

When the news of Shirley’s death finally traveled to my ear, I was impelled to create a piece of word-art to give to Shirley’s husband. Using art-paper, a straight-edge, and a mat, I crafted my preprinted poem and framed it. I delivered the acrostic at Shirley’s wake that evening, the prelude to her funeral.

An acrostic is a poetry form that uses usually the first letter of each line to spell out a word or phrase vertically.

How surprised and honored I was when the next day I went to the funeral luncheon to see among Shirley’s photographs and memorabilia on display, my poem. I felt humbled and relieved that her husband, Tom, found comfort and meaning in my small offering.

So


Honoring


In 


Radiant


Life,


Even


Yet

With this realization, that is, how my poems could bring solace to others, I began to use poetry in my work as a hospice respite volunteer. When appropriate, the person in hospice and I would write poems together as a way to express pain and worry. In one case, the patient, Nancy, wrote a poem to her husband to tell him how much he meant to her, something she found unbearably difficult to say out loud in light of the fact that she would soon die.

My father passed in 2015 and I knew immediately that I needed to create something with poetry to honor him. I came up with the idea of crafting tiny little broadsheets with an acrostic poem that reflected what I understood to be my father’s final destiny. The cards were quite simple, usually on one piece of card-stock, but sometimes more decorative with two pieces of card-stock artfully juxtaposed into one piece.

Looking at the end product, I thought they might be used as bookmarks, which would suit my father well. I included them in the thank you notes I sent out after the funeral.

Holy


Ever


After,


Victorious


Eternal


Ninth Cloud


Herbert J. Budig


1931 – 2015


Sadly, our mother passed away a mere five months after our father. I had received so much appreciative feedback on the bookmarks I’d made to honor my dad that I knew I needed to do something similar for my mom.

If you knew my mom, you’d know that a simple bookmark like I’d made for my dad’s memory would not suffice. My mom was an expert fabric artist. She owned enough scissors to outfit a high school home ec room. My mom was also a prize-winning quilter. In fact, we adorned the funeral home where we held her service with a dozen or more of her quilts hanging on the walls and draped over benches.

I wrote a very different type of acrostic poem to honor her and the miniature broadsheets were a far cry from anything I’d made before. To assemble my bit of art, I spread everything out on the dining room table. Along with the dozens of the same poem, lay multiple types of paper with varying colors and patterns and edging and weave, the paper cutter, the three scissors—one for fine snipping, one for straight edge, and one for pinking—plus double-sided tape.

My mother’s creative spirit welled up in me and brought me great joy. Her quilts have taken many awards and while I have made a few quilts, it’s paper that entices me. I find much satisfaction cutting paper and playing one pattern against another with color and angle variations to also layer in the finished product. Scrapbooking supplies feed my paper-devotion, but it’s poetry I want to show off, not photographs.

I loved crafting those baby-broadsheets with a poem to honor my mother. I gave the artwork out to everyone who offered food, a card, or other bit of sympathy after her death. 

The 3 x 5 inch cards could be tucked into a framed photograph, slid underneath the glass top of a dresser or desk, or as in my case, used as a bookmark. I like to look at it and remember my mom. It wasn’t only the act of writing a poem for my parents that comforted me, but as the project and idea grew, it was designing and creating the remembrance cards, especially my mom’s, that brought me great solace.

A thread has been pulled 


from my body, wending to


places unknown


My heart unravels without its pin:


Mother, Friend, Grandma

Donna Jean Hattie Stuewer Budig


April 29, 1937 – February 19, 2016


When one is sad and grieving, happiness can seem elusive, almost inconceivable, but finding comfort and relief is a blessing and is welcome. I continue to share this special happiness of writing acrostic poetry and sometimes making tiny broadsheets for friends and family who have lost a loved one.

About me: I lead a creative and adventuresome life. I am attracted to colors and patterns and words. I’ve written for newspapers and magazines and have had my poetry published in journals, magazines, and online. I confess to being a papyrophiliac in my love of stationery. I relish using fancy papers to set my poetry off in the best light. Scissors are integral to crafting with paper and I happily inherited my mom’s myriad scissors and in fact the contents of her quilting-room.