I'm tired of you, grief.
My eyes are sore from taking your hits.
My stomach aches from the punch you gave it.
My legs are weakened, and dizzy my head;
My mouth is dry and my nose is red.
Every time I try to walk away
you spin me around and land another.
I've no strength to hit back; there's nothing to say.
For I know to fight back is not worth the bother.
It seems you never will let me go;
as far as I run, you're still there with me, I know.
You'll take all my strength and turn my hair gray.
I'm tired of you, grief, but you're here to stay.,
Hermina, your poems express so well what I felt back then, including the tiredness. I wish I had had some of your poems to thrust into the person's hand when he or she asked: "How are you?". "Here, read this, this is is how I am!"
ReplyDeleteAnd whenever tragic news of loved ones like Luc or Damian comes to my attention, my heart cries out:"Lord, do they HAVE to go through that deep deep sorrow?!"
You'd think, I would know how to help, but I don't.
Standing along side, Mellon
Thanks, Inge. I am amazed by how many people I know that have walked this desolate and horrible road, the loss of a child.
ReplyDeleteThis blog has become my "therapy"; trying to express some of the pain and anger. Cathartic, but also to remember the pain, which is all we have left of him, it seems. That sounds odd, but did you also dread the fear that the passing time would start lessening the pain, and that seemed unfair, or wrong?
"to remember the pain" - I hadn't really thought of it in that way, but yes, it's important to remember the pain. After all, the pain is now tied up with the memory of LUC (or Dale). I did a lot of writing too and I think you are right, it was partly to remember the pain. At the moment, I don't know what I actually wrote. I haven't re-read them in a long long time. No wonder it seems unfair this passing of time.
ReplyDeleteIt bothered me, that I couldn't remember how tall Dale was or that I couldn't visualize his face decently in a week or so after. His face in death, wasn't really him.
Now, when we watch video footage of Dale, I'm almost awed by it. Who is this little guy, who has been gone longer than we've known him. As the footage comes close to the age when he was taken, I feel myself getting agitated. Death is such a bad ending when it comes to your own child.
Keep writing & taking pictures, Hermina. Don't stop.
PS - Thank God for grandchildren on whom we can lavish all the love we want to.