GRIEF Archives - Page 8 of 8 - Ellen Morris Prewitt

Just Rain

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on June 9, 2015. Posted in GOD, GRIEF, LOVE. 10 Comments on Just Rain

When we were interring Daddy in the Old Chapel Hill Cemetery (x marks the spot, a shovel, and an urn), rain fell. We held umbrellas, but we were moving, digging and tossing dirt. The August rain dripped slow and steady—not warm, not cool, just rain—and even as it was happening, I knew I’d never act afraid of the rain again. No running to...

Here’s the Kicker

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on May 27, 2015. Posted in GRIEF. 12 Comments on Here’s the Kicker

A daughter orphaned from her dad at age three, I wrapped myself in all things Daddy Joe. Because he moved to the Rockies, I loved the snow, demanded a Frosty the Snowman cake every December birthday, cherished my red sled—in Mississippi, where it snowed once every seven years. I folded and unfolded the postcard he sent me of a Palomino until...

Walking Toward the River

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on February 20, 2015. Posted in GRIEF, Writing. 12 Comments on Walking Toward the River

Every morning and every afternoon I walk toward the river. The river flows past the oversized window at the end of our hallway. Sometimes when I walk, a behometh ship passes, rusty hull slicing the air. At other times it’s the train passing, the cars laden with graffiti. On the rarest of occasions, the train runs in front of a ship and...

The Body in Conversation

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on January 22, 2015. Posted in General, GRIEF. 18 Comments on The Body in Conversation

My body is aghast at what I’ve done to it. Open-mouthed, slack-jawed, incredulous. Like the time in the 11th grade when I was playing powder puff (Ha!) football for the Keyettes. I was standing there minding my own business when wham! I was knocked senseless onto the ground. I struggled upright to see the grinning face of a girl on the...

Remembering Sonja

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on October 25, 2013. Posted in General, GRIEF. 4 Comments on Remembering Sonja

Her hair wound in a braid down her back, always. She was Indian, her dad a professor at Duke. Sonja was her name. We were in the 7th grade, she a part of the group of girls who had welcomed me, the new student, into their friendship. She wore tennis shoes to school and the long black braid. One time, at a spend-the-night party, I saw her hair...

Documenting What I Cannot Change or Understand

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on April 24, 2013. Posted in General, GRIEF. 18 Comments on Documenting What I Cannot Change or Understand

She rises behind the lectern, carefully taking the steps. Each time, before she reads us our Sunday morning lesson, she flashes a smile our way. Not all lay readers approach their task with such lightness; some bring a decided solemnity to the event. Not her. We’ve walked with her through a recent journey—she’s lost an incredible amount of weight—and...

Are You Still With Me?

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on October 8, 2012. Posted in General, GRIEF. No Comments on Are You Still With Me?

When I was three years old, my daddy died. That’s quite a sad thing to happen, losing one’s father at such a young age, particularly when he was so young himself. Worse, he died suddenly, violently. His car was hit by a train, at a crossing that had a red light, but no warning arm to descend protectively across the track. He likely didn’t see...