The Union of Opposites

Transformation is found in the union of opposites through the middle path. 

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Happiness (2022)

I don’t want to be wished happiness

I want to show up

Feel every grueling emotion

Sink into the depths of despair

Sit beside those already there

I want to know what it’s like to feel my

Humanity

Ride the overwhelming waves of grief

Experience the crack of a lonely heart

One moment

Watch my toddler lick whipped cream off of a tiny spoon

Laugh with her at the absurdity of it all

I want to feel her growing body curl against mine at 3am

Listen to her fightened breathing slow to a whisper

I don’t want to just be happy

I want to grow old

My body soft

I want to be grateful for it all

What a prividledge

The suffering

Opening a place for me

Making room for us all

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Banana (2022)

You asked for a cookie in the bath tonight

And we settled on a banana

When I peeled it from its skin the top broke 

Off and your scream fell silent for a few seconds

Until it didn’t and the octave felt

Unreachable

I lamented about the sadness of a broken banana

And offered you the stubby half

Pulled you from the bath

I thought about how someone I used to know died by suicide today

And how I had an excruciating conversation with a friend yesterday

And how I am an orphan

I wrapped you in a striped towel

The sucking of the banana vibrating against

My chest as I rocked you back and forth

Thinking about how it all felt broken

Today, this year, this life

We rocked and we talked about the

Disappointment of a broken banana

The sadness

Then I started singing a silly song about a banana and an apple that turned in giggles

And peddling toes

We sang until both halves of the banana were eaten

Teeth were brushed

Books were read

Songs were sung

Our two minutes of rocking almost up and

You turned to me and said-

“We didn’t talk about the day momma!”

Our nightly ritual

“I had the best day with you Luz…”

So we talked about the zoo and the carousel and Hudson

We talked about the playground

And walking the dogs

And Aunt Sydney

And then you said-

“My banana broke momma and you held Luzie.”

“Yes, I held you,” I said

But What I really meant was- we held each other.

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Barn Cat (2022)

She said, “It’s OK I’ll hold your hand!”

After I told her I didn’t want to watch the barn cat crunch the skull of the bird in its mouth

But I took a deep breath and let her hold my hand

And wondered about the fear she’d felt

All those times she reached for my hand and

How I couldn’t possibly know 

What three year old things she needed me for

I thought about the times she’d taken my hand when a stranger appeared

When she felt sad

When we crossed the street

I wondered about how she knew holding my hand might help me through the 

Terror of this life 

[kalisbaby-deactivated20260731]

"Please try to remember that what they believe, as well as what they do and cause you to endure does not testify to your inferiority but to their inhumanity and fear."

-- James Baldwin

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Joy Sullivan, from “These Days People Are Really Selling Me On California”, Instructions for Traveling West

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Joy Sullivan, “Want", Instructions for Traveling West

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Rachel Gillig, The Knight and the Moth

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Victim impact letter

Saturday night after you called me to process the day I sat on our couch and cried. I told myself I will be OK. I also reflected on the question of whether I was only still here because of L**. 

The thing is I have fought for this relationship and for her because I thought that’s what she needed me to do. I felt like she needed a parent to fight for her. To see that she is worthy of that. As I reflected on that and my drive to show up for her so strongly I realized I was also doing that for little Sarah. Little Sarah who didn’t feel like her parents showed up for her in those ways. Little Sarah who didn’t feel worthy. I was fighting so L** could feel worthy but also because I didn’t feel worthy. 

In that moment of clarity something clicked into focus. I have stayed in this relationship because I didn’t feel worthy. I didn’t feel worthy of being respected, loved, or cared for in the ways I was fighting for L** to feel respected, loved, and cared for it. 

And that was the moment I realized: I am also worthy. It is my unworthiness that has kept me here. 

I promised you as soon as things changed for me I would clearly communicate my feelings. This is something I have committed to you and the time for me to communicate where I have landed is now: 

I am done. 

Weeks after my dad died I asked you, “how do I do this? I’m an orphan!”

Your response was- my parents will die one day, too

When I cried- “I’m suffering -you’ve broken me!” 

You said- “this is painful for me, too!” 

And you’re right Will

Your pain is so big it takes up all the space in this relationship. 

It’s so big there is no room for me

You stand in the center of the room everytime

When I begged you, begged you

See me

You asked, what about me? 

In the midst of abuse I begged- what can I do to make you nicer to me?

And you said- have more sex with me. 

If it feels like I’m a million miles away it’s because I’m standing exactly where your pain pushed me. 

I went to bed on the last night of 2025 to you swearing at me under your breath. 

The thing is you can’t read the label when you’re still stuck inside the jar

These last five months have allowed me to the space to see

What I saw brought me to my knees

Years of emotional neglect

And abuse

The thing is I thought it was me

I thought if I fought harder 

Showed up more perfectly

If I gave and gave and gave

You might finally see me

You might be able to love me

My own shame driving me forward

The good girl doesn’t give up

If I dig deeper, love harder, give more

If I can prove my worthiness you will see me 

That will save us

What I didn’t realize was that it wasn’t on me

But now I see William

And the thing about seeing is that you can’t unsee: 

The death of a thousand Sarah’s 

I’ve sat in silence so many nights 

Trying to figure out what the right next best thing was

And I sat at the bottom of the well that has been my love for you

And I’ve realized that it’s dry

I’ve given all that I have to you. 

I hope now you can hear that I have loved you with the love of a thousand suns

I have loved you so much that it almost broke me

What kept me here was empathy for you

But what will allow me to go is empathy for myself 

I’ve also realized my nervous system no longer feels safe enough to move toward you and if you could realize the magnitude of your harm you wouldn’t ask that of me, either. 

I admire that you believe I am superhuman. 

But I am not. 

There is nothing left of me to give within the sanctity of our marriage vows. 

We have reached the limits of my humanity.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said- 

“Your actions speak so loudly I cannot hear what you are saying” and that is what the last five months have been like for me. 

I want to acknowledge this is incredibly painful to hear.

I understand if you cannot give anything back to me, but it is my hope that in these next months you will allow me to take up space. 

That you can hear me and you can soften to me in these next steps-

I have worn the mask of your trauma for 13 years and it’s time for me stop opening my hands. It’s time for you to place your anger, your hurt, and your needs into another container. 

These next steps will be brutal 

 But I ask two things

One that you co-parent well with me for L**’s sake and that you’ll continue the work toward containment of your emotions and be respectful of L** and I both. 

And secondly- I ask that you maintain a stance of empathy toward me in the same way I have given you empathy for the past thirteen years. 

Regardless of whether you can give these things to me I am now in the process of believing I am worthy of receiving them and my journey of accepting nothing less begins now. 

[underwelmed]

photography by velvet my soul

source

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winter citrus 

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Heavy

That time I thought I could not go any closer to grief without dying

I went closer, and I did not die. Surely God had his hand in this,

as well as friends. Still, I was bent, and my laughter, as the poet said,

was nowhere to be found. Then said my friend Daniel, (brave even among lions), “It’s not the weight you carry

but how you carry it – books, bricks, grief – it’s all in the way you embrace it, balance it, carry it

when you cannot, and would not, put it down.” So I went practicing. Have you noticed?

Have you heard the laughter that comes, now and again, out of my startled mouth?

How I linger to admire, admire, admire the things of this world that are kind, and maybe

also troubled – roses in the wind, the sea geese on the steep waves, a love to which there is no reply?

— “Heavy” by Mary Oliver from Thirst.

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The righteous perish, and no one ponders it in his heart; devout men are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil. Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death.

Isaiah 57:1-2

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Life-sketch

Throughout his life Michael wore many hats. Brother, son, physician, husband, friend, and “Grandpa.”

Born in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains in Ironton, Ohio, Michael grew up on a multigenerational farm- enjoying what are now the simple pleasures of life but were previously essential skills for survival. Years of stories from my father have engrained in me the resilience of our ancestors. They were humble, unpretentious people who worked hard and shared generously -and Michael embodied this spirit.

During his childhood Michael, or “Mike Crowe” as he was affectionately called during this time spent his days exploring his grandparents farm with his older brother and cousin Phyllis; riding the plow horses, swimming in the creek, and helping in the garden. Always with a dog by his side. Insatiably curious he would also hide away for hours with his nose in a book. His love of learning was intense and innate.  

Like all of us Michael was a product of generational traditions and culture but he also aspired to see more of the world. When he told stories of his childhood, I often thought of him as a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. So much of himself etched in the landscape of his home while other parts were stark juxtapositions.

The first in his family to graduate with a college degree Michael possessed a hunger for knowledge that led him outside the boundaries of Lawrence County and into the world of academics. First attending Ohio University and obtaining a bachelor’s degree in Zoology, Michael then continued on to obtain a master’s degree in Biological Science from Marshall University.

It was this degree that landed him in Ft. Lauderdale Florida, teaching anatomy to medical students at Southeastern College of Osteopathic medicine.  My father was an excellent teacher and I can only imagine that he thrived in this position. As a child I never felt shamed for asking him questions and it seemed as if he had endless patience. Having a toddler myself I now appreciate exactly how patient and tender he was. I imagine the reason why a mentor convinced Michael to enroll as a medical student himself was because they saw so much potential in him.

The same year Michael made the decision to enroll in medical school he was married, and throughout the four years required of medical students, he became a father of two. First to my older brother James, and then to me. It was during this time he also found truth and peace within the beliefs of the Adventist Church.

After completing a family medicine residency in Selma, Alabama Michael moved his family to Avon Park, Florida and began his career as an emergency medicine physician. As a doctor Michael was alarmingly calm and possessed a grounding presence. He was passionate about serving his patients- a quality that allowed him to make a smooth transition to family medicine when he opened up a practice ten years later. It was in this role that Michael was able to care for his patients in a more personal way, often making house calls and being known for remembering names and impressive details about their lives. He was incredibly intentional in not only the way he practiced medicine but in how he treated all those who were entrusted into his care.

A practical man, Michael was not one to get caught up in the injustices of this world. Growing up if something didn’t quite pan out the way it was supposed to, anything from a flat tire to a glitch in a family vacation my father would turn us and say, “It’s all part of the adventure!”

There was never a question as to whether the incident could be overcome or feeling that everything was ruined. As a child this confidence eased my anxiety and as an adult I see how it informed Michael’s ability to confront life and the hardships it inevitably brings.

Michael married Annette Pickett Crowe on August 15th, 2010. After closing his family practice in Florida, they moved to Collegedale, Tennessee. Michael felt immensely blessed to have found love again with Annette and they settled into life together, enjoying spending time together and traveling. Over time Annette’s children became his children and her grandchildren became his grandchildren. In Annette and her family, Michael found a home.

Throughout his career Michael made one last transition to work as a physician for Life Care Centers of America, eventually becoming medical director in both Collegedale and Ooltewah buildings. In this role his leadership was especially impactful and he thrived as a geriatric specialist and also as a mentor to those who worked under his direction. This was recognized by LifeCare when they awarded Michael Doctor of the Year in 2013.

“Grandpa,” as he was lovingly called by his six grandchildren, was perhaps his favorite role. Michael loved nothing more than spending time with his five granddaughters and one grandson (with one more on the way!). There was something magical about watching him come alive with each of them. Michael love nothing more than being outside with them talking to them about gardening and telling stories of growing up in the country. Being mostly a “girl” grandpa Michael also was endlessly longsuffering about getting his hair brushed, make-up done, and playing with dolls and horses.

On Monday, December 13th at 12:43 dad text me two photos of my daughter Luz. They were photos he had taken a week prior. We gushed over her like fathers and daughters do. I asked him if he was free to watch her Thursday morning so I could get some things done. He told me, “[he] would be happy to.” Several hours later he was gone.

My father was my first hero. Always prepared. Tender hearted. Generous. While this doesn’t feel like, “part of the adventure,” I rest in the confidence that Michael left a legacy through his family, relationships, the service to his patients, and the light of Christ he spread in each of these roles.

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Tribute for Michael Eugene Crowe

Michael Eugene Crowe went to sleep in Christ on the 13th of December, 2021 in Ooltewah, TN.

Michael was born on October 22, 1951 in Ironton, Ohio. The youngest of two sons Michael grew up on his family’s farm, sharing land with multiple generations and enjoying the simple pleasures of life like gardening and running through the foothills with his dog and brother James by his side. Michael graduated from Rock Hill High School in 1969, a star athlete in both football and basketball. He continued on to complete his college degree and then obtained a master’s degree in Anatomy from Marshall University. Michael was passionate about sharing knowledge with others and soon found himself teaching medical school classes at Southeastern College of Osteopathic Medicine in Miami, Florida. It was here he also found truth and peace within the beliefs of the Adventist Church.

While Michael was passionate about teaching and his job as a professor, a mentor who believed in his potential as a doctor pulled him aside and convinced him to enroll in the medical school. In 1985 Michael was married, and throughout his training and residency, became a father of two.

After completing a family medicine residency in Selma, Alabama Michael moved his family to Avon Park, Florida and began his career as an emergency medicine physician. As a doctor Michael was alarmingly calm and possessed a quiet confidence. He was passionate about serving his patients- a quality that allowed him to make a smooth transition to family medicine when he opened up a practice ten years later. Throughout his career he made one last transition to work as a physician and medical director for Life Care Centers of America in Collegedale and Ooltewah, Tennessee. In this role his leadership was especially impactful for the nurses and those working with him.

Michael married Annette Pickett Crowe on August 15th, 2010. Together they settled into life in Ooltewah, Tennessee and enjoyed traveling and spending time together. In his spare time, he enjoyed cultivating his property into a small farm where he planted orchards and grew mushrooms among typical southern crops. Additionally, Michael enjoyed nothing more than reading history books, following Kentucky basketball and Ohio State football, and staying up to date with the current political climate.

“Grandpa,” as he was lovingly called by his six grandchildren, was perhaps his favorite role. Michael loved nothing more than spending time walking side by side with each of them, teaching them about the land, gardening, and life. Insatiably curious himself he was incredibly patient and never tired of their endless questions.

Michael is remembered for his kindness, generosity, and gentle spirit. He loved spending time with family and ultimately, this was his favorite pastime. His legacy lives on through these relationships, the service to his patients, and the light of Christ he spread in each of these roles.

Michael is preceded in death by his mother, Thelma Lee Crowe, and father, James Crowe, and brother, James Allen Crowe. He is survived by his loving wife of 11 years, Annette Pickett Crowe; two children, James Crowe and Sarah (William) Otis and three step-children, Anthony (Morgan) Bussey, Jonathan (Kristi) Bussey, and Anna (Skyler) Williams; six cherished grandchildren, Andrew, Hope, Georgia, Charlotte, Norah, Margaret, and Luz; three nieces and numerous close friends.

A Celebration of Life will be held Friday, December 17, 2021, at 3:00 P.M., Collegedale Community Church, 9305 Four Corners Place Collegedale, TN 37363.

Gathering of Family & Friends will be held Friday from 2:30 P.M. until the 3:00 P.M. at Collegedale Community Church.

In lieu of flowers please make a donation in his honor to The Tri-Community Fire Department.

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It seems impossible it’s been three years.

*******************

 A year after my sweet momma died I got this tattoo in her handwriting. At the time it was a reminder of the good: the light in this world. The familiar script was comforting. 

******************* When I found out I was pregnant last year I thought for sure I was having a boy. Looking back I was afraid to hope for a girl. You see, in the weeks before her death I told my Mamacita that Will and I decided if we ever had a little girl we would call her Luz. The moments that followed are so sacred to me; both of our hearts breaking over the life she would not bear witness to. An agonizing prayer for a granddaughter not yet born and a plea to God for her life. The memory is one of my most vivid and cherished but I would give anything to have never lived it. Still, at times it seems impossible that she’s not here to cherish our little Luz. Becoming a mother without a mother is a brand new loss I’m still trying to navigate and digest. It just feels so huge.

Yet I am comforted to know that my momma got to rejoice in her existence and celebrate what was to come. A beautiful legacy born out of a life taken too soon. And so now the tattoo reminds me of their two lives, not quite intersected, yet still connected. Two of the most profound relationships of my life just barely missed each other: my mother and the one who made me a mother. This life is so strange. It’s complicated and messy. But it’s also so very beautiful and I feel so lucky to have been gifted not one light, but two. 

Last night I rocked Luz a little longer after she fell asleep in my arms and wondered about the countless times my own mother held my body close to hers and what she felt. The most profound gift she ever gave me was the space to be exactly who I wanted to be while relentlessly loving me. I never realized the magnitude of this until I became a mother but now it’s my most intentional pursuit. Here’s to you mamacita! Your light shines on.

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Death; wow. So f-ing hard to bear, when the few people you cannot live without die. You will never get over these losses, and are not supposed to. We Christians like to think death is a major change of address, but in any case, the person will live fully again in your heart, at some point, and make you smile at the MOST inappropriate times. But their absence will also be a lifelong nightmare of homesickness for you. All truth is a paradox. Grief, friends, time and tears will heal you. Tears will bathe and baptize and hydrate you and the ground on which you walk.

Anne Lamott

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One family’s trauma offers valuable lessons on how to comfort those in pain.

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Rather often I am asked whether the grief remains as intense as when I wrote. The answer is, No. The wound is no longer raw. But it has not disappeared. That is as it should be. If he was worth loving, he is worth grieving over. Grief is existential testimony to the worth of the one loved. That worth abides. So I own my grief. I do not try to put it behind me, to get over it, to forget it… Every lament is a love-song.

Lament for a Son