About her fragile frame she wears her grief,
a comforter of silent memories
that bind her to the past, the golden days
when love sang out from youthful beating hearts
and she would vow from dusk to dewy dawn
the passion of her love eternally.
But now that love – her love through time – has gone
and all the world’s clothed winter, bleak and grey;
each sleepless night breathes hoarfrost cold and still,
and wearisome and loveless pass each day.
She wanders vacant rooms with tired step,
each place where he has walked she treads again;
she clasps each book to touch where he has touched,
sits in his chair, now empty of his pain.
Her fervent wish to quit this endless hell
to follow in his wake, and all pain quell;
relight the passions shared since her first vow,
true mainstay of her tranquil life till now.
For hollow are her days, and death does creep,
but she’ll step smiling through the veil of sleep.
Grief takes many forms and we deal with it in our own way. That may be through acceptance or denial, celebration for a life well-lived or despair at a good life lost. There may be regret at words not spoken or thanks for wonderful times shared.
There is no right or wrong way, only the way that is best for the individual. At that moment. In that situation.
Thank you for reading my thoughts on this very personal experience.