James Taylor knew, didn’t he, the pain of
Thinking he’d have one more chance
To hold a hand
To say the words and hear theirs in return
To savor their embrace
Only to be denied these comforts
Forever.
Oh, I always thought that I’d see them
One more time again.
A million emotions
Mask grief:
Anger and madness
Contrition and control
Exhaustion and endurance
Helplessness and hopelessness
Too many to name. So much to bear.
The hurt reaches into each pore,
Slender branches poking and prodding
Taking over until the misery spills out faster
Than we can process it.
And that is why we
Weep.
We bloggers form an odd circle of friendship. I follow a great many blogs by people from all over the world. Some blogs are written by people I actually know personally, while others are penned by people I’ve never met, and most likely will never meet. Miles and miles, and often oceans, separate us.
Many of the people I follow also follow me. We get to know each other and I, at least, look forward to their next photographs or poems or essays on life. I care about my blogging friends
Yesterday, one blogger shared with us that he’d just learned of his adult son’s death. His post was real and raw and I began crying as I read it aloud to my husband. My heart hurt, and I felt so helpless that I just wanted to go to bed and cover my head with the covers.
My prayers are with him and his family. I hope they know just how many people are thinking of them, and sending love their way, and crying tears that they will never see, but are very real and heartfelt.
Peace.
She’s forged in the fire
Of unspeakable sadness
Such weighted sorrows
Loss, her companion
Her memories, filled with love
The pain, hers to bear
When darkness threatens
She wields the brightest of lights
Searching for justice
i read the news this morning of a friend’s mother having a stroke,
and another’s father breaking a hip.
i heard of an adult child who fled
his responsibilites and left his
wife and children for a fling.
i thought about the pain we experienced
as young parents, worrying about our
infants’ developmental stages.
i recalled the nights spent agonizing
over my teenagers’ angst and woes,
their heartaches and heartbreaks.
i wept when reflecting on the loss
of my parents, both gone too soon
from my life; too young from theirs.
i realized there are no easy times,
nothing worthwhile comes without cost.
the joys of loving our only reward.
Recently a beloved uncle passed away after a long illness. When I shared the news on Facebook a friend who’d recently experienced a similar loss commented that we are at a tough age.
I knew what she meant. I’ve lost both of my parents, as have most of my closest friends. Several in my age group have experienced the traumatic loss of a spouse, and some the loss of a child.
We are the sandwich generation, those of us in our mid-to late 50’s. Some still have children at home while simultaneously caring for aging parents. I would almost say it is the most difficult time. But then I started thinking and the poem appeared.
There are no easy times. We might be fooled for a second by a lull in the action, but every stage has its pitfalls. The love is worth it, though. Just keep plugging.
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 