Loss
Loss comes in many guises,
in the little bit of dying we do every day.
Loss is
when a best friend takes that final journey
and we remember all the good times we had
growing up, seeking the world together.
Loss is
the happiness I felt for her the day she married.
Loss is
the joy I felt for her each time another little one appeared.
Loss is
in the letters that spoke only of her family
and my responses, that spoke of mine and not me.
Isn't that how it should be?
Loss is
the Christmas card with photos
of her life so far removed from mine.
The greatest loss is
the formal letter from her grieving husband,
I'm sorry to have to tell you that my wife--
Loss is
in the words; my wife,
Could he not have said instead,
. . . your dear friend has passed away?
The memories of all the good times
come tumbling from the lockbox of my memory.
I live again the carefree times, before
our lives led us on separate paths.
Loss is
the little bit of dying we must do every day.
Vi Jones
©April 2005
posted by Vi Jones @ 9:28 AM
1 comments
1 Comments:
Thank you, Vi, for another piece of truth. Even though it is difficult, this poem is so real. I have thought about this often - your friends husband letting you know by saying, "My wife" instead of "Your dear friend." It has made me very aware. Should I ever be in the same situation, it is something I will always remember. Thank you for that insight, it is very important.
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