upon the death of my Grandpa Planchon, imagining what my distraught mother must be feeling at the loss of her beloved father by imagining how I might feel at loosing her.
I thought
I had known grief before
but never
has it been so hardto move a limb or speak or to
acknowledge caring friends…..
No matter what they say or do
or how they illustrate their love.
I thought
that I had felt
Abandonment
– until you died.I realize now, though others may have left me,
they had never really gone away so far.
I thought
that I had cried before, but
never
have my eyes brimmed o’re with tearsthroughout a day, a week, a month,
beyond a year without a conscious thought of you
ever even going through my mind.
The void cries on its own.
Food has never been so unappealing.
For what is eating, after all,
but reaching out to stay connected with this world.
Whereas I only seem to want . . . I only want . . .
Why, short of just this moment here alone . . .
I really don’t want anything at all.
Never
have I been so lost for words.
For what
words could be said to bring you back?Nor actions done?
Not
finding these, my lips are
drawn and
mute and sealed
across a
helplessness so vast that only
those
who’ve lost a loved one understand . . .
The
futility of words to bridge this gap . . .
Time, and nothing more, can heal this
wound.
I’ve seen
my empty face worn by
others
through the years. And neverunderstood the reasons why
they couldn’t simply rise above their pain . . .
and talk, and smile, and join the fun.
And lend a hand to others in their need . . .
The way we’ve done so many times before.
I hadn’t
realized that grief
could be
a way to stay in touch.
To be so
quiet and so still,
so
scarcely breathing air that I canAlmost feel your cheek brush mine . . .
Almost feel our hands entwine . . .
Almost feel your heartbeat’s timing . . .
So,
prostrate with grief I lie.
Not to
wilt away or die,And not for sympathy, but just to
concentrate my will and hold you . . .
Just for one more precious moment . . .
Almost by my side.
