We
Are
A
Fragmented
Cluster
Of
Sisters
Whose
Children
Are
No
More.
Society
Turns
It’s
Head
From
Us,
Wishing
Us
To
Hide
Our
Pain
And
Grief
And
Cover
Our
Souls
That
Tore
Under
The
Burden
Of
Having
Our
Children
No
More.
© Elizabeth Martin
I wrote this poem last night. Yesterday was a particularly hard day for me. These "awful" days come without warning and are hard to function in. I have done a lot of reading on "grieving parents". Isn't this such a non-label? How is it that there is a term for women who have lost their husbands (widow) and men who have lost their wives (widower) and none for the most devastating loss of all?
These "awful" days are normal. I know that. It's something that I and my "sisters" share. It makes for "fragmented" communication between us. One never knows what kind of day the other is having. No one expects a response back on an "awful" day.
And the above poem brings me to another phenomenon I've experienced. Right after my son's death, I began writing poetry. It became an outlet for what I was feeling. It was something I could not help but do. It hurt to write. It still does. I've never written a poem without tears.
Honestly, I rarely even read poetry before I began to write it. Of course there were the famous poems we are taught in school. I remember cringing if there was a poetry writing assignment. And for good reason because my poetry was horrible. Trust me on this.
My daughter, Jane, turned me on to Emily Dickinson while she was a college student. I love Emily Dickinson's Poetry. I'll never forget the first poem she shared with me and our lengthy discussions about it: Because I Could Not Stop For Death
This was long before Ben's death, of course.
And it was Jane, who majored in English and now teaches it, that I turned to when I wrote my first poem. I sent her an email titled: "a poem (?)"
Can you correct/help?
Love.
mom>
And her response:
It doesn't need any help or corrections, it's a beautifully written poem.This was what I sent her:
On Ben’s Death
Reality
My heart
Sinks
More each day
As
Awareness
Rises
That he is
Gone.
No more
Confidences
No more
Complaints
No more
Laughter
No more
Disagreements
No more
Small talk
No more
Reliability
No more
Annoyances
No more
Hugs
No more
My sinking
Heart
Holds this
Burden
Anchored by
Memories
© Elizabeth Martin
Then
Come
Those
Days
Of
Debilitating
Pain
When
You
Live
In
A
Haze
Wanting
The
Light
To
Wane
And
For
Sleep
To
Rescue
You
And
Keep
You
Sane.
© Elizabeth Martin
writen on a particularly hard day 1/28/2010
Dear Readers,
I hope you don't mind this post. It is an honest one.
Betty
1 comment:
thank you for your poems - and your posts. i lost my sister/my best friend...what are sisters called who lose their sisters?...there is no word - as there isn't for mothers who have lost a child. perhaps that does not matter...without name or label the pain continues. and in the darkness - when sleep does not come, we are alone.
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