These Are the Conversations We Have Now
Last night I re-read a comment from 2005
You were cancer-free when you said
“I always wish I knew you were depressed”
It was on a blog post titled
I Almost Went to Woodstock
back when blogs were like living rooms
that we wandered in and out of
talking to each other
You almost went to Woodstock too
but didn’t because you were a new mother
“I don’t even remember you when I was depressed”
I answered “You didn’t live at home then”
Our older brother Jimmy went
I remember him complaining about the mud
We couldn’t remember if he saw Janis Joplin
or was too far from the stage
I had friends that begged me to go
I imagined them pulling up at the house
and beeping the horn for me to come out
No one knew about depression back then
We called it “having a nervous breakdown”
“We were each deep into our own realities”
you said, “I’m glad we keep better tabs now”
The phone rang and no one left a message
I imagined you calling from the afterlife
________Colleen Redman / Poets United
August 25th, 2019 9:27 am
Ah, what memories the anniversary of Woodstock brings….and what sadness in your reflections. Powerful writing.
August 25th, 2019 11:42 am
this reminded me so much of my youth days with mischief and all. that was so different. i miss it alot.
August 25th, 2019 11:53 am
I love the lines about our blogs being our living rooms, that we wander in and out of……and the conversational tone of this poem. So sad, her passing.
August 25th, 2019 12:04 pm
Echoing Mary, this was a powerful poem. Change and the private become the historical becoming personal again…straight to the heart.
August 25th, 2019 12:19 pm
I sometimes come across older entries and see comments from people who have since died… imagine if we could go back and relive the conversation from before our blogs. (I had no blog in 2005)
August 25th, 2019 1:05 pm
This is incredibly evocative. I believe our blogs indeed hold a lot of memories both joyous and painful … your words tug at my heart 🙁
August 25th, 2019 1:09 pm
So much to unpack here. You have touched on many poignant realities of life. Bravely open and personal. Thank you for sharing this.
August 25th, 2019 2:56 pm
I have a friend who made incisive comments on my blog for several years before he died. Now, when I go back and read them, it’s like having a friendly visit with him. Love your poem.
August 25th, 2019 3:48 pm
I went to Woodstock and to be honest I don’t remember much. This poem reaches me as I think ob coversations with people who have gone before. Heartbreaking.
August 25th, 2019 3:54 pm
“We were each deep into our own realities”
so often the case, and each reality is perfectly unique. ironic almost. an evocative piece here
August 25th, 2019 8:00 pm
All of us have stories to tell of what we were…now we are all poets where we can be who we want…more often than not it is going back in time.
August 26th, 2019 5:05 am
Conversations/ keeping tabs/ checking up on social media – whatever works… we tend to live a lot in our own realities- real realities and virtual realities. Just picking up the phone makes all the difference in the world.
August 26th, 2019 9:50 am
back when blogs were like living rooms
that we wandered in and out of
talking to each other
I miss those times!
A poignant reminiscence, sad yet sweet, and so real I felt I could almost have been the narrator. (Though Woodstock would have been a lot further for me to go!)
August 26th, 2019 12:28 pm
So often we hurt others due to ignorance. Sad that your mother did not understand the severity and reality of depression.
August 26th, 2019 12:48 pm
It was my sister and she wasn’t aware I was depressed, rather than not understanding it. I hid it very well from most.
August 26th, 2019 4:01 pm
I was a depressed teenager and young woman. Very few knew it. It wasn’t until my late 20s that I started to work at letting things go.
I’m glad there are still blogs that feel like living rooms open for us to visit and chat.
August 26th, 2019 4:03 pm
I believe my clinical depression/anxiety was due to a Hashimoto’s thyroid incident. I later became hyperactive like my mother and grandmother but didn’t have to have my thyroid removed like they did. It wasn’t situational.
August 31st, 2019 11:16 am
Wow, so much going on in this poem, Colleen. I love it, whoosh. A story… an explanation, now and recent-ish past and longer past all coming together, this is riveting.