Of Grief and Grieving
A few of my friends are going through a rough time with loss right now. I'm reminded of the W.H Auden poem, Funeral Blues. I'm reminded how during a particularly rough loss, I was so angry at the world for going on. Didn't they know my beloved was gone? How dare the grass grow and need to be mowed -- I went on strike against it and didn't mow for at least a month. How dare the marching band start their daytime rehearsals? Did they think I wanted to hear their music while tears ran down my face? How dare the leaves start to turn?. How dare the nights start to chill down? How dare time move further and further away from the days when my life was Complete?
Here's one of the best article about grief I've ever read. I think it helps explain why our journey with our kids is such a roller coaster. Grief is NOT linear. It helps to understand the seemingly random two steps back days.
Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Here's one of the best article about grief I've ever read. I think it helps explain why our journey with our kids is such a roller coaster. Grief is NOT linear. It helps to understand the seemingly random two steps back days.
Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
"You left as summer was fading into fall..."
A Meeting
ReplyDeleteIn a dream I meet
my dead friend. He has,
I know, gone long and far,
and yet he is the same
for the dead are changeless.
They grow no older.
It is I who have changed,
grown strange to what I was.
Yet I, the changed one,
ask: 'How you been?'
He grins and looks at me.
'I been eating peaches
off some mighty fine trees.'
-Wendell Barry
A colleague gave me that poem the year I lost three close friends and my first adoption attempt collapsed. It is still on my fridge, and it still helps.