Another year passes and my grief is still real. A poem.

27 Years Later

Grief is heavy today.

Weighted.

I wrap myself up in it like

Image courtesy of K Whiteford

a blanket

and finger the

fringes,

braiding them with

sadness,

regret, and what-ifs.

I remember the

pain

of long

ago.

The call.

The drive.

The hospital smells,

mostly of burnt blood dripping.

Another braid –

smells,

sights, sounds.

Beeping.

Then the dreaded silence.

I pull the blanket tighter around my aching

chest,

cocooning the pain.

Will it transform into something

beautiful?

Quilted memories.

Patches

of yellow and turquoise and

RED.

The red startles me and I unwrap,

tossing the blanket

into a

heap,

kicking it off to a corner

and reaching for my coffee.

I must not let the morning slip away.

There’s a life to live.

~Hana Haatainen-Caye

©2016

  

In memory of my late husband, Jim Thompson. 5/22/55 - 9/10/89