part 1.
Perhaps this will happen every Sunday or thereabout,
A detour, like last week, from an already plotted course.
I wanted to write a poem today for my classmates,
gathered in various email chains for our upcoming 50th.
Then I received an instagram message this afternoon
from an old friend telling me her sister passed away
last week after a long illness. How can I write a poem
reminiscing about high school pranks at a time like this?
Maybe I’ll inject some line breaks and call this the poem -
All the action happens in high school anyway.
And what shall I say to her children who have lost their mother,
and to her siblings who have lost their big sister?
What shall I say to her mother who never really liked me?
Let bygones be bygones. Love your neighbor.
part 2.
There’s only so much RAM.
What happened to those stored memory banks?
A cataclysmic event crashed my hard drive,
wiped clean all prior thoughts, hopes.
These shocks to the system happen. So why
was mine the harbinger of such loss?
I may never name it, but I felt it
When I learned the lost of an ancient friend.
The cramps I used to get distance running
were not cramps – they were small cavitations
of a pump – I’d later learn. Intense pain
that almost broke my heart. Those memories
are my only surviving recollection from that time.
Don’t be ashamed to shed tears for your loss.
part 3.
18 months ago . . .
“Hello. I’m doing well. It’s been six years with the cancer,
Grateful for the favor of God keeping me here.
Thank you for reaching out and thinking of me.
The adult children are all in their thirties and also well
And in healthy relationships.”
18 months later (today) . . .
“Hello sir, I just wanted you to know that my beloved sister
Passed on Wednesday morning.”
The loss is painful, gut-wrenching. I am without words.
I remember her as a vivacious teenager, stealing my heart
In a most innocent way. I spoke with my wife
And my sister seeking solace, shelter from the storm.
We are at that age, I guess, approaching 3 score & 10.
Many have gone on ahead, joined the slow-moving
Caravan, deployed on eternal patrol. No man knows
Who will be the first or the last to go. Not that it matters.
All that matters is to be surrounded by loving family
When the hour approaches. Please love one another.
beautiful heartfelt piece...I'm sorry for your loss