The Tiniest Bit of Light
This chapbook is a collection of poems about losing a child and somehow remaining among the living. These poems detail how mundane things happen in daily life that one can be a part of while simultaneously carrying around a hot burning grief. One can be in the life, having fun, dancing on a rooftop when the sun is going down and Venus and Mars are just visible in the night sky. One can do all the things, but the stabbing pain of a child’s death can be there in a heartbeat. It’s about trying to live this life, but missing them at every turn.
The Tiniest Bit Of Light Is an eloquent expression of the terrible, searing everydayness of loss, a quiet but vibrant commentary on the painful awkwardness of speaking grief with those who don't understand it, and an evocative tenderhearted reminder of the relentless entanglement of sorrow and hope. -Kelli Dunham, author of The Boy's Body Book
The Tiniest Bit of Light traverses night skies, whilst embodying the profound depths of a mother's love. Dusty Bryndal's skilful work provides glimpses into the spectrum of emotions felt amidst unfathomable grief. Iona Winter - author of In the shape of his hand lay a river
Losing Judah
Grief is mostly an individual experience. Though others may feel a similarly deep loss, it’s just not the same for everyone. Losing Judah describes how shared grief- through the music and memories of others- begins to help a grieving mother find her footing.
This impactful book is a meditation on our worth and importance to each other. Through the story of how her son Judah’s death affects his best friend, Dusty Bryndal writes about the soul print that our children leave on us, and on the world. Through poetry, art, and music, grief is lifted and carried by many hands. -Elisa Sinnett author of Detroit Fairy Tales
A grief memoir in poetry, Bryndal writes the loss of her grown son with a generous pen. She writes the grief, not just as her own, but as shared by those close to Judah. Heartbreaking is too small a word to contain this kind of grief, joy is too small a word to contain what Judah was. -Jenny Forrester, author of Narrow River, Wide Sky
Guilt Scar
Ariel was in Brooklyn and we met up for lunch at a Chinese spot way down Seventh Avenue in Park Slope. The conversation was good and got deep fairly quickly. Then it turned to talk about the dead and the spirit world where they reside. If I am talking about that stuff with anyone, then I am for sure going to be talking about my dead son. This led us to the topic of guilt. There’s so much guilt I carry, I told her between slurps of bean curd homestyle, that at times I feel it weighing me down. She shared with me some of the guilt she carries which helped me to share some of mine.
The next day I texted her and told her that I hadn’t shared half of the guilt around my son’s death that is plaguing me—that I gave her the watered down version. That I was working on it in therapy. She texted back: I bet you can shed 90 percent of it and then keep a workable guilt scar.
It can be helpful to understand the meanings we give words.
guilt
n. the fact of having committed a specified or implied offense or crime.
“it is the duty of the prosecution to prove the prisoner’s guilt”
v. make (someone) feel guilty, especially in order to induce them to do something. “Celeste had been guilted into going by her parents”