GRIEF AND LOSS - POETRY
God is the perfect poet, Who in his person acts his own creations.
- Robert Browning
I have an online grief support group now called Live To Remember. It is a work in progress but I invite you to visit and share there.
|
GRIEF AND LOSS - POETRY
God is the perfect poet, Who in his person acts his own creations. - Robert Browning I have an online grief support group now called Live To Remember. It is a work in progress but I invite you to visit and share there. |
I've had an ongoing battle with poetry since I was a kid. I would write out these rhyming odes to whatever and think they were great. The next day they were crap in my eyes. When I started reading poetry that DIDN'T rhyme well, good heavens, mine could not possibly be called "poetry" could it? Teachers forced us to write strange things such as haikus and these were considered poetry. Well, my creative juices did not go in that direction at any time so I quit writing anything close to being considered poetry feeling inadequate and unworthy compared to the great poets of our times. After my son died, though, these words kept going through my head and they would not let me rest until I let them out. I mean that literally, by the way. I would go to bed with some poetic fragments dancing around in my skull and attempt to get to sleep. Inside my mind, though, these fragments were coming together and soon there was a poem. Over and over it would play until I finally gave in and got up to put it down on paper. When I am done I am exhausted and I fall into bed in relief. My sleep is deep and undisturbed. Sometimes I read what I have written and I feel like it was another person who must have been inside of me for a time. That is why I feel that, when I write something like a poem, it is a gift. I might fight it but in the end God wins out and there it is. I guess feeling like that is what finally made me feel a lot less uncomfortable about sharing what I have written. I don't take credit for it. I am a messenger. That may sound overly religious or what have you to some but I truly feel that way. You would have to experience what I feel when I lie there sleepless with these words pounding over and over in my head to believe me. In any case, I will put them here but I know they aren't earthshaking literary treasures. They are just words meant to comfort and let you know I understand. That is all they are meant to be. |
|
|
Night had fallen and it was time for bed, As usual I couldn't sleep, so I prayed instead. Dear God, I said, I miss my son But as always, dear God, thy will be done. I said the words but still I wept, Then tears were done and finally I slept. Deep in slumber I began to dream; It was so real as night visions can seem. I saw a line standing at Heaven's gate And a sign that said: Here you must wait. "Wait for what?" they all cried in dismay. "We were good; we deserve to go this way!" But St. Peter waved a hand and smiled at the crowd, Please settle down, don't shout, not so loud. And then he explained, before they filed through That they had a small task he needed them to do. One by one in a line you may now come along And register for our website, Heaven.com. Please give me the screen name of your choice; Your email address will be @angelsrejoice. In my dream I awoke and turned on my computer One email subject said: Your heaven.com tutor. I opened it up and read my email in wonder; Surely this must be a joke or a blunder For there in mail it clearly was stated That for a reply my son now eagerly waited. It told me just how I could write my sweet boy; Now down my face ran a mother's tears of joy So I answered my mail and then got one in reply: Dear Mom, it said, I'm sorry I never said goodbye. But you know that I love you and I always will. I wish that I could be with all of you still. But this place is so beautiful, and so serene. Hard to explain but I know you know what I mean. And, Mom, I know that in forty or fifty years You'll be here with me, so Mom, please, no tears. In the meanwhile, send me an email now and then. Let me know all the news and how everyone's been. Until you are here and we are together once again, Your son in God's light, bless you, Mom, and amen. I awoke then and knew that I had been sleeping. My wet pillow made it clear that I had been weeping. But how I smiled to think if only it could be true, To hear from my son, and others who had passed, too. But somehow I feel that my son used this way To let me know he was fine, and that, everyday, He is there with the Lord and the angels above. He sees me from there and he feels all my love. And although I miss him and will always feel sad, Somehow a part of me also feels glad. For I am sure now that he visited me in a dream; It would be so like him to go to that extreme! Knowing his mom spends so much time online - How like him to use a computer as a sign! So he has the last laugh and someday I can say, Oh, my son, how you managed to brighten my day! Wouldn't it be wonderful if this only were true? That heaven had email and even IMs, too? But still we can do it the old-fashioned way: Get on our knees, bow our heads and then pray. |
|
|
| Little Angel Child, with your face so very sweet, |
