Sunday, December 2, 2012

A friend of mine died last night. She was the last person on earth I'd ever imagine dying suddenly at about 30 years old, leaving a husband and two small children. I wrote this poem as I thought all day of her husband and how bereft he must be.

Monica
 
What is this shock of blinding dark?
She is here, then she’s gone.
Yesterday she washed dishes
Changed diapers, folded towels.
Today she has left her skin and bones
And sings with angels.
For all that, it is wrong
This thing called death.
She lives there still, but
The ripping of her from her body
Is as wrong as her ripping away
From me.
No! I say. No! It can’t be.
But it is.
Death is the utter wrong.
If the next earth be better
Than this one, we will make up
For all these lonely years
With eternity, love.
Wait for me.


Dec. 2, 2012

4 comments:

  1. So sorry to hear this - and it adds even more weight to your previous post- the time we have is a precious gift.
    Thoughts and prayers with you, and Monica's friends and family
    blessings xx

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  2. No one can *possibly* understand who hasn't experienced it...the death of a spouse, child, parent, friend, aunt, uncle, grandparent... I was so shocked when Dave died; I'd experienced the death of loved ones but the death of a beloved spouse has dealt be a blow from which I can't seem to recover. The pain simply won't stop.

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