Surrounded by the ever present Spectre of death…
Mortality itself has haunted since the 11th year-
Family & friends dying like the Hemingways and Fondas having a competition…
Addictions and violence permeate a life… a society… a culture.
Supporting those you love,
Facing my own fears;
Tasked with aiding those in grief…
A lifetime of training?
They don’t tell you the right things to say…
Or even the wrong things to say.
“It will always come in waves… they just get further between…”
Weak tea for the knock kneed.
Birth to death and all between;
Beautiful acceptance to righteous anger-
Fuck this mortal coil.
Have you ever wanted something so bad,
you work and sacrifice….
Go a little mad…
Obtain said goal.
As though you had been…
chasing the proverbial dragon,
you are again unsatisfied?
Its easy to feel very sad and isolated-
Lonely in this big house-
Full of white noise and silences…
Inconsistently closed yet open doors.
Still trying to adjust- adapt…
Handle all the new noises
Suppress all the annoying ones,
Lament the loss of the old ones;
Not regret not covet-
Missing the tiny place somehow-
Although cramped quarters-
Happiness was found in those small spaces;
No choice but intimacy-
And shared purpose.
I’m spending time with a hospice client today who is telling me the secrets of life… they’ve been married two times, 20 years the first time, and 52 years the second. (!!!!)
They say the secret to life is “…to love and let them love you. It’s the only thing that lasts and the only thing you can control. Sometimes. Anger and hate fade away and you don’t remember what exactly you were sore about, but you never forget the reasons you love someone or how it felt when they loved you.”
I’m not crying. YOU’RE CRYING.
Hot shower, warm hug;
Music muffled water white noise.
We return to womb.
Sold two wedding dresses today:
One, unworn and white.
The second; loved yet stained…. with the paint I wore to hide me.
Last remnants of a former self,
Sold to the highest bidder.
I feel myself, disappearing…
I’m not sure…
Not sure how it happened…
It was just an idea:
Based on a memory…
A reverie really;
Of a boy-
A boy with sad eyes,
a piano, and a weight bench…
Now he’s become a man,
with those same hauntingly sad eyes.
But the weight,
Is now upon his shoulders.
And the piano?
The piano is gone,
And the music…
Well, music is a burden,
on his soul…
But he’s full of love,
The fear creates a vacuum…
Nature abhors a vacuum, right?
Whenever I try and picture anyone else’s eyes, I can’t.
Never have been able to, despite my great imagination.
Now hands; hands and nails, I remember.
How someone holds a cigarette, touches their lips, wears their rings, or bites their nails; that’s easy.
Even 25 years later, I can still picture some people’s hands.
But their eyes?
I’m ashamed to say, not even my kids
Recreate in my mind’s eye?
I can see them without trying.
I could paint them from memory.
Somehow, this means something.
The known unknown.
White noise cannot,
drown out your obvious absence;
Or quiet my thoughts.
“Navigator” is an important role…
But so is “Driver”.
Both must give up control of many aspects…
But trust that both intend to arrive at the agreed destination…
Hope; that both travel in the same direction…
at similar speeds…
attitudes and road games can cause wear and tear…
upon both the vehicle and the occupants…
GPS often requires signals that can get lost…
Sometimes you just need to pull over and look at the map.
Forlorn sigh and yawn,
My pillow has lost your scent.
A fortnight, plus half…