Friday, December 24, 2010

It Wasn’t Until I Lost Him

It wasn’t until I lost him
that the blue sky turned
murky and closed in, my body
became torpid, a reflection of
my life without the ability
to even care for myself.
I looked to my husband,
my mother, my family and
friends and finally strangers
to save me, to help me find
my way back to a world
that made sense again.

It wasn’t until I lost him
that I lost my lifelong
faith and innocence.
One plus one began
to equal three or four
and a look in the mirror
reflected a ghost with
no face I recognized.

I stared at my husband
and daughter, wondered who
they were and how I fit
in their broken lives,how
I could shelter and take care
of them. My arms felt
empty no matter whom I held.

It wasn't until I lost him
that my life became a jigsaw
puzzle with missing pieces,
huge gaps that I couldn't fill
but was forced to put back together.


Victoria said...

Yes, you have put a new life together without the precious piece of your living son - an act of courage and of love. I know, remember the feeling of "my arms were empty no matter who I held."

Peggy Goetz said...

Another stunning poem Judy. I am sure there will always be some kind of empty spot. One doesn't really forget, you just get used to it I guess. Hugs.

Anonymous said...

In this season of light and hope, may you have both as you travel on your journey CA

Mary said...

This is a painful poem, Judy; but it is also a poem of hope. You did put your life back together again, and I admire you SO much for that. You are a very special person.

Bill said...

Peace and Love to you. Strength, determination, resolve,family,faith and hope. Iam sure you are familiar with these.

Willow said...

This poem is visceral, comes from there, hits there. You are stuck, but you have made and do make great strides. You are strong, in your love, in your grief, in your loss, in your recovery. You are putting the puzzle of yourself back together in phenomenal ways. It is not a sign of failure that one doesn't let go entirely...the letting go, as Peggy said, just gets longer, and with longer it becomes thinner. There will always be a thread. You wouldn't want it any other way, couldn't do it any other way.

Elizabeth said...

Your poem finds its echo within me. I know these words, these feelings, and have owned them for years. And your sense of it resonates within me, reminds me of where and what used to be. No, the sorrow never leaves, but it does serve a purpose, helping and guiding us in ways we might otherwise not know. That is not an attempt to comfort, but simply the hand of another who has traveled a very similar path. Peace be with you,


Bill said...

Beautiful Poem