Category: Writing
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Eleven Months In: A Widow’s Poem and Autoethnographic Note – Writing Grief From Inside The Data
Eleven Months In: A Widow’s Poem and Autoethnographic Note — Writing Grief From Inside the Data. A printmaker and widow documents her second poem eleven months after her husband’s death. Written and revised in April 2026, this autoethnographic accompaniment note records the body’s timelagged update — the hands that grip, the abdomen that curls, the…
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Nine Months In
Personal essay of grief writing about waking into loss. For those in traumatic bereavement who find the body remembers before the mind catches up.
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First Winter
Field notes from traumatic bereavement: documenting grief’s administrative violence, temporal mechanisms, and survival at 8-9 months post-loss.
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Grief’s Imprint on the Body: An Auto-Ethnographic Reflection
A reflective, research-informed exploration of how sudden bereavement reshapes the body, from immune vulnerability to hypervigilance — blending poetry, personal narrative and academic insight.
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Closed Curtains
The body keeps the score. The mind ransacks the memories, grasping to stay among the living. The memories—if they’re of deep love and respect—offer tenderness, warmth. Pale though they are compared to the real thing, they just have to be enough. This is the grindstone of the bereaved.
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Grief I: Sutured With Longings Of You
“The spaces you’ve left are heavy with your memories.I lie here bereft, sutured with longings of you.I miss you” Poem accompaniment of “Grief I: Sutured With Longings Of You”, mixed media printmaking -Nusye McComish Grief, as I am learning to live through, is not merely an emotional state – it is akin to a wound…
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Academic Grief Study: Navigating Widowhood Through Research
Monday Morning I woke today rememberinghow his face looked when he sleeps—when we were just starting to be together.In our twenties.We were mere babies. I was a first-year student.He just began his work,studying CIMA.He looked peaceful in sleep. There is this space,cotton-wool safeI know I want to enter itto simply stay with thememories, I know…
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SouthSeaEyes is quiet for now
Last fortnight, my husband passed away. Unexpectedly. Suddenly. The warm light that is the core of my world, my anchor, the sacred home to my heart. His absence has reshaped every corner of my world, quietly and completely. Grief is not linear. It is a shard, a shrapnel. It is keening. It floats when idle…
