I awoke happy as always to be in my own bed in my own room, sunlight filtering through the lace curtains. But something was now different. Then I remembered. I retreated back under the quilts. I simply couldn’t do this.
It was All Saints’ Day, one of my favorite days of the year, the anniversary of my ordination. Ironically, I had put together a lovely service of remembrance which I wouldn’t be able to do now due to the death of my sainted husband. I didn’t come out of my room until almost noon. All I could do was cry, write on Facebook, and write a couple lousy poems.
As I cried and wrote, I became aware of something giving way in me, like a boat that has slipped its mooring. Now that I was safe at home with no more details to attend to, I drifted out onto the sea of grief.
In the midst of writing a poem, I had to search the scriptures for some comfort, for some reason to go on, before continuing it. It was Psalm 6 that enabled me to get up, rise, resurrect. The word for resurrect in Greek literally means to "stand up." Here’s how it came out in my journal--disjunct, a mess, raw and real:
A Keen
I want to die.
I want to curl up in a ball
and cry until my heart breaks
so that I can say to him
all the kind words,
all the affection,
all the love I have
that I didn’t say
that I should have
for these were more true
than all my voiced criticisms
of love’s past disappointments.
I want to die
not only for the loss
of my beloved
but for the loss
of my delusional pride
that has thought I was something
when I was nought.
I pushed him beyond his capacity
then criticized his lagging behind
threatening to go on without him
so he pushed himself
to tell me of his love
and I turned away, cold,
until he turned cold in death.
Psalm 6:
O LORD, rebuke me not in thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure.
Have mercy upon me, O LORD; for I am weak: O LORD, heal me; for my bones are vexed.
My soul is also sore vexed: but thou, O LORD, how long?
Return, O LORD, deliver my soul: oh save me for thy mercies' sake.
For in death there is no remembrance of thee: in the grave who shall give thee thanks?
I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim; I water my couch with my tears.
Mine eye is consumed because of grief; it waxeth old because of all mine enemies.
Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity; for the LORD hath heard the voice of my weeping.
The LORD hath heard my supplication; the LORD will receive my prayer.
Let all mine enemies be ashamed and sore vexed: let them return and be ashamed suddenly.
But I have to get up/
stand up/
anastasis/
resurrect
for the sake of my daughters,
for the sake of others
whose hearts are breaking
to whom I can now minister
with some measure of tender understanding.
The cat needs fed,
The dog his meds
The girls their education.
So I stumble to wobbly feet.
But know this:
I want to die.
Along with Auden’s clocks,
I want my heart to stop, too.
I want to draw Bryant’s
drapery around my couch in sleep
never to rise again.
And then there was this doggerel:
A Postmodern Elegy
Nevermore will I mock
maudlin Victorian elegies
for they are true
more true than
the sarcasm of this present generation
filled with death-dealing words.
A cord of light has been cut
that tethered me to the path
of this world.
I wander, lost,
as in a darkling wood
where coyotes howl
in the dead of night.
and I am afraid.
Only Thy Word, O Lord,
can be my lifeline
I cling to Thy promises
to see me through this storm.
Give me the strength to hold on.
After penning these words, I ventured into the kitchen where my mother sat. “There’s oatmeal if you want it,” she said.
I had to eat, so I put some walnuts in it and took my bowl to the dining room where I opened the paper. The standard morning ritual—breakfast and paper. The normalcy of this both comforted and disturbed me.
I wasn’t sure what was real anymore. I wasn’t sure I was real. I was moving through the world like a ghost on another plane of existence, not really connecting with the earth. I was trying to find my husband, hoping he’d meet me in the strange liminal space I found myself in, wandering altogether lost and disconsolate. Though all may have looked normal on the outside, I was beside myself.
It was All Saints’ Day, one of my favorite days of the year, the anniversary of my ordination. Ironically, I had put together a lovely service of remembrance which I wouldn’t be able to do now due to the death of my sainted husband. I didn’t come out of my room until almost noon. All I could do was cry, write on Facebook, and write a couple lousy poems.
As I cried and wrote, I became aware of something giving way in me, like a boat that has slipped its mooring. Now that I was safe at home with no more details to attend to, I drifted out onto the sea of grief.
In the midst of writing a poem, I had to search the scriptures for some comfort, for some reason to go on, before continuing it. It was Psalm 6 that enabled me to get up, rise, resurrect. The word for resurrect in Greek literally means to "stand up." Here’s how it came out in my journal--disjunct, a mess, raw and real:
A Keen
I want to die.
I want to curl up in a ball
and cry until my heart breaks
so that I can say to him
all the kind words,
all the affection,
all the love I have
that I didn’t say
that I should have
for these were more true
than all my voiced criticisms
of love’s past disappointments.
I want to die
not only for the loss
of my beloved
but for the loss
of my delusional pride
that has thought I was something
when I was nought.
I pushed him beyond his capacity
then criticized his lagging behind
threatening to go on without him
so he pushed himself
to tell me of his love
and I turned away, cold,
until he turned cold in death.
Psalm 6:
O LORD, rebuke me not in thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure.
Have mercy upon me, O LORD; for I am weak: O LORD, heal me; for my bones are vexed.
My soul is also sore vexed: but thou, O LORD, how long?
Return, O LORD, deliver my soul: oh save me for thy mercies' sake.
For in death there is no remembrance of thee: in the grave who shall give thee thanks?
I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim; I water my couch with my tears.
Mine eye is consumed because of grief; it waxeth old because of all mine enemies.
Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity; for the LORD hath heard the voice of my weeping.
The LORD hath heard my supplication; the LORD will receive my prayer.
Let all mine enemies be ashamed and sore vexed: let them return and be ashamed suddenly.
But I have to get up/
stand up/
anastasis/
resurrect
for the sake of my daughters,
for the sake of others
whose hearts are breaking
to whom I can now minister
with some measure of tender understanding.
The cat needs fed,
The dog his meds
The girls their education.
So I stumble to wobbly feet.
But know this:
I want to die.
Along with Auden’s clocks,
I want my heart to stop, too.
I want to draw Bryant’s
drapery around my couch in sleep
never to rise again.
And then there was this doggerel:
A Postmodern Elegy
Nevermore will I mock
maudlin Victorian elegies
for they are true
more true than
the sarcasm of this present generation
filled with death-dealing words.
A cord of light has been cut
that tethered me to the path
of this world.
I wander, lost,
as in a darkling wood
where coyotes howl
in the dead of night.
and I am afraid.
Only Thy Word, O Lord,
can be my lifeline
I cling to Thy promises
to see me through this storm.
Give me the strength to hold on.
After penning these words, I ventured into the kitchen where my mother sat. “There’s oatmeal if you want it,” she said.
I had to eat, so I put some walnuts in it and took my bowl to the dining room where I opened the paper. The standard morning ritual—breakfast and paper. The normalcy of this both comforted and disturbed me.
I wasn’t sure what was real anymore. I wasn’t sure I was real. I was moving through the world like a ghost on another plane of existence, not really connecting with the earth. I was trying to find my husband, hoping he’d meet me in the strange liminal space I found myself in, wandering altogether lost and disconsolate. Though all may have looked normal on the outside, I was beside myself.
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