I guess I thought
that the pain of grief
would somehow
ease away,
like some small ship
eases from the shore or port,
into the mist
of an unknown
destination far away,
but it is there still,
just beneath the skin,
waiting for just a word,
or image, or memory,
or melody, to bring it out
in a rush, in an emotional wave,
bringing, like tigers
from jungles of childhood,
tears, fierce and hot,
and angry and sad,
and mixed together
like some heaving stew,
wanting you, my son,
wanting you.
I suppose I thought
that this pain of grief
would become less
with the tick tock of time
with the movement
of the hands
of the daily clock,
having got over
the initial shock
of your sudden afternoon death,
having read the cards
of condolences, having seen
the many flowers and seen
them fade and go,
having heard the words
of sorrow said and expressed,
that this pain would go
or ease like that,
like the rest,
but no, it is still there,
my son, still pains,
bubbling beneath the skin,
waiting for just that memory
of final hours, or words
or things I ought
to have said, but didn't
or words said but faded
by the passing hands
of time's erasure,
words I wanted to say,
or said but unsure if you
in your coma heard
or knew or whether
they came and went
into the blue, and haunting
images of that last time,
last time, my son,
of seeing you.
Grief! ! Having got over the initial shock. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I know what it is to lose a child. My daughter, Laura, died of cystic fibrosis when she was 13 years old. this was over 30 years ago but there is still pain. I try to remember the happy days and her very strong personality. She could be a little fierce sometimes but always full of fun. It's a very fine poem indeed, quite apart from the personal affect it has on me. I wonder if writing about him might help but maybe later. Some times these things are too raw. It's a very brave poem too. Thanks for sharing it. Tom billsborough