Poeaxtry's Prism

Spell. Stone. & Sparks that Ignite Change

Tag: grief writing

  • You Missed the Call: A Reflection on Grief and Gratitude

    You Missed the Call: A Reflection on Grief and Gratitude

    In the journey of grief, certain moments hit harder than others. Today, I opened my Storia journal and found myself confronting one of those moments: a simple, yet devastating wish to hear my mother’s voice one more time.

    Pick Up the Phone, It’s Mom:

    Everyday I see people take their mothers for granted. They reject the call. They brush her off. “Oh no, next time.” But one day there won’t be a next time. I know they don’t get it yet, and so is life. Oh I fondly remember that, there was a time I didn’t get it either. 

    But now I’m on the side where I wish I could have one more call, one more “next time,” but it won’t ever come.

    And the grass isn’t greener at all; in fact, it’s dead over here incase you’re wondering. Yea, it’s dead.. I checked… just like my mom.

    And no, I’m not talking to those of you who have gone no contact. I’m looking at those with loving, caring, try-their-hardest (even if it’s their first go at life too) moms who put it off til next time. And I get it I had the superstar, that’s your number one fan type moms. And I’m sitting here telling you oh I regret and remember every single call I let go to voicemail or dog video I ignored.

    You’ll regret this one day too, maybe not tomorrow or even the next 100 tomorrows but one of them you will. And after that you’ll regret it for every tomorrow that you will live to see. Shit maybe more.

    And if you don’t, that means you’re one of the ones whose moms had to bury them.

    And that’s maybe even worse. Because now your mom had to bury you and you made her live life with one less conversation with her child. Yea that’s tough man. You’d do that to your mom? Ouch. But seriously call your mom… just to even tell her that I said hi and talk to her a bit. You know since I don’t have one to call.

    Just answer the phone or text next time it’s her. Maybe even act like you care… if not for her or you, do it for me, remember I’m gonna used the dead mom card again and say since I no longer can.

    Finding Space for Grief with Storia

    Processing these complex emotions becomes a little easier with tools that create space for reflection. The Storia journal app has become my digital sanctuary for these otherwise pent-up feelings and moments of grief or remembrance.

    What makes Storia stand out is how it takes journaling to a level that is nurturing yet practical . Each entry you make contributes to your digital garden. This means you begin maintaining a streak to grow virtual plants. These then flourish with your consistent reflections or journal entries. The app offers thoughtful prompts like “What area of your life you want to grow?”, “What brought you joy today?” , and “what are you grateful for today?” that gently guide you toward healing.

    I appreciate how Storia lets you create multiple journals with custom titles and covers. Therefore, my grief journal sits alongside my transition journal and my hiking log, each with its own purpose and tone. The “talk to journal” recording feature has been particularly helpful on days when typing feels too demanding but the words need to come out. Or I’m simply too busy to stop and type out my journals.

    For a free app, Storia offers remarkable customization options. You can choose different themes, colors, and even journal covers that match your mood or personality. Even allowing you to choose your own photos as covers as I did with my hiking journal. You can add photos to journal entries though I haven’t played wi this much so I am unaware of any specific limits. This is really cool because it doesn’t feel like a clinical tool but rather a companion on the journey.

    The Call We Can’t Return

    Grief teaches us about the finality of missed opportunities. While apps like Storia help us process these feelings, they can’t bring back the calls we didn’t answer or the conversations we’ll never have. Though they can help us feel closure and peace by getting the words out or processing the feelings we wouldn’t have known we needed to.

    If you still have the chance to pick up when your mom calls, consider it a gift. Definitely one that many of us would give anything to have again. Remember that sometimes the most profound act of self-care is caring for the relationships we still have, while we still have them.

    The next time your phone rings and her name appears on the screen, remember: some of us would trade anything for that moment you might be taking for granted.

    “They paved paradise and put up a parking lot. ”

    Poeaxtry’s 🔗

  • “Anti-Depressants” Grief, My Mother, and the Limits of Healing

    “Anti-Depressants” Grief, My Mother, and the Limits of Healing

    Grief has a way of showing up right when the world is shouting about holiday cheer. Every neon display tells you to be merry. Every commercial insists that joy is mandatory. It hits harder when your heart is carrying loss. This poem confronts that tension directly. It’s the kind where love and pain sit in the same room. You find yourself trying to breathe through both. Readers who have carried a loss through the holiday season will recognize that raw pull. Those who have tried to balance healing with real life will also feel it. In a world that doesn’t slow down, this piece reminds you that grief doesn’t follow the calendar. It follows the heart, step by step, memory by memory.

    “Happy fucking holiday.”

    An original poem by: Axton N.O. Mitchell

    I’m depressed,

    and my life isn’t even a mess

    compared to what it used to be.

    Recently, I learned:

    grief isn’t something

    medication will ever ease.

    You
    have
    to
    let
    it

    drop you to your knees.


    The pills really do work

    for what they’re worth.

    But I still have to get used

    to the loss of you.

    And now your dog is gone too.

    She held so many memories
    of you:

    the way you put her in your purse,

    the way you two were attached.

    The way she looked
    at me
    like she knew
    she’d be with you.

    Letting
    go

    has never come easy to me.

    I don’t think

    I’ll ever fully heal

    the loss of
    you.

    Maybe I can’t…

    If it’s true

    medicine for depression

    can’t touch

    what grief has caused.

    Now what will

    carry me
    through

    the loss of
    you?

    This one came out of the type of day when everything felt too close. I kept thinking about how healing never looks like what people promise. Folks hand out easy lines. They say time heals everything, or that pills fix the hurt. However, they never sit with what grief really does. Losing someone shifts the ground under you, and sometimes the memories that stay behind hit just as hard. Even the dog carried pieces of that story. Writing this was my way to accept the truth. Medicine can soften the edges, but it can’t erase the shape of a loss. It felt important to say it out loud. If someone out there needs that same permission to feel what they feel, I hope this poem offers them comfort. This poem can give them space to breathe.

    Grief asks us to carry the weight of love long after someone is gone. It shows up in the soft places, the unexpected reminders, the empty corners where laughter used to live. This poem is part of a larger journey through healing and memory. It explores the fragile work of moving forward even when the heart refuses to forget. If this piece met you where you are today, stay with that feeling. Let it be a reminder that your grief is real, and your healing is real. You don’t have to rush toward some polished version of recovery. You’re allowed to take it slow. You’re allowed to remember. You’re allowed to feel all of it… especially on the days when the world tells you to smile.

    Poeaxtrys Links. Poetizer. A poem.