I think, ‘No, that’s my event.’ But it’s not even mine. It was his – his birthday. He died eight days before it in 1982. (Gods, can it be so long?) He would have turned 25.
When I start to have my ‘anniversary reaction’ during the winter months leading up to the date of my dear husband Andrew’s death, in September 2012 when he was 83, that is not the only anniversary I’m reacting to, not the only death.
My two greatest loves, so far apart in time – how appropriate that it is winter that brings those deaths back for me, with bleak cold.
Then comes the consciousness of being alone. I don’t normally mind that. I keep busy; I like my own company; I’m content. But at this time of year my aloneness confronts me. It becomes loneliness. It becomes an abyss. Do I hear a wolf howling? I shut my ears, make myself busy….
a sudden chill
the date of your death
arrives again
In the memoir I’m writing, I’ve been frank, so far, about the men I’ve loved. But not this one. This is the one I never speak of – though I do write poems.
Very few people know what he meant to me. (Few know anything of him at all.) Those who do were there at the time; they saw it all play out. Some others may have guessed, but if so they have never dared ask.
Really there are only two who understand completely. It has been remarked on between us possibly three or four times in 35 years. The hurt is still deep; and after all, there is nothing useful or even needful to say. We know. We know that we know. That is all. (That is everything.)
our eyes meet
arrives again
In the memoir I’m writing, I’ve been frank, so far, about the men I’ve loved. But not this one. This is the one I never speak of – though I do write poems.
Very few people know what he meant to me. (Few know anything of him at all.) Those who do were there at the time; they saw it all play out. Some others may have guessed, but if so they have never dared ask.
Really there are only two who understand completely. It has been remarked on between us possibly three or four times in 35 years. The hurt is still deep; and after all, there is nothing useful or even needful to say. We know. We know that we know. That is all. (That is everything.)
our eyes meet
he lives in the unsaid
our friend who died
There was one other. Just one time we spoke of it. We talked for hours; we said everything. We always knew we would. We’d waited years … and still we needed to get drunk together first. He has long disappeared; no contact for decades, no knowledge for either of where the other might be. It’s probably better so.
Then there was a friend I made much later, who read my selected poems and asked, 'Rosemary, who died, in your life?' (This was long before Andrew died.) So I told her the story, in outline. She could barely grasp it. We have never mentioned it again. That was years ago; I think she has forgotten all about it by now.
did we exist
There was one other. Just one time we spoke of it. We talked for hours; we said everything. We always knew we would. We’d waited years … and still we needed to get drunk together first. He has long disappeared; no contact for decades, no knowledge for either of where the other might be. It’s probably better so.
Then there was a friend I made much later, who read my selected poems and asked, 'Rosemary, who died, in your life?' (This was long before Andrew died.) So I told her the story, in outline. She could barely grasp it. We have never mentioned it again. That was years ago; I think she has forgotten all about it by now.
did we exist
if no-one knows?
– Zen koan
Shall I write the tale at last? What could I say that anyone who didn't live it alongside me could possibly understand? I could relate the facts, but what could they truly convey?
I might tell it one day, but not today.
So was he my true love, the love of my life? Oh, all loves are true! And all loves, when true, are for life. Andrew, with whom I had a life, a happy one for 20 years, is the one I most acutely miss. That other, who died before he was 25 – which was shock as well as grief – has been the longest dead.
After he died, I wrote: All my years / you’ll go on being dead. They stretched before me interminably, then.
All those years ago, I learned everything about intense grief. All these years since, I have come to know that grief never ends, though we learn to live with it.
I would have died to save him, if it could have saved him. I live on. I mourn. I relish life.
blue skies
you will never see –
winter sun
I didn't share even this very widely at the time I wrote it! Finally linking it, over two years later, to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #498
I didn't share even this very widely at the time I wrote it! Finally linking it, over two years later, to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #498
Comments cross-posted from another platform:
ReplyDeletegangrel_pri
*hugs*
snakypoet
Thanks. :)
Oh wow, Rosemary. What a heartfelt post, the love never spoken of. "Grief never ends, we learn to live with it." Yes. Only 25, what a shock. Thank you for sharing this.
ReplyDeleteI feel the deep emotion in this poem, the profound loss. I am sure there are many poems to be written...or not. So hard to lose such a love & at such a young age.
ReplyDelete"he lives in the unsaid", the heart of the second senryu, speaks a sort of truth that every heart that understands that every love is true can feel as deep as deep can go. The intensity of the old love story keeps it so very fresh. I didn't live this. I wasn't even there. But I can still feel the loss, lingering, wrapping wanting arms around a waist it hasn't seen in ages...
ReplyDeleteLove, love, love this so much.
What a reflective post - full of loss and sadness but it feels like writing it down may help..I hope so
ReplyDeleteIt’s never too late to share, Rosemary, especially grief, which takes its own time. The sentryu are particularly touching, especially
ReplyDelete‘a sudden chill
the date of your death
arrives again’
which reminds me of my own losses.
How honest you are Rosemary to write about your loves in such a way. I merely write about incidents or allusions to the romances I have had as fiction or just something fitting a prompt. My first real girlfriend broke up our relkationship after we finished school and both were working and never spoke or wrote again until two years ago after both our spouses had died. For us it was very pleasant speaking this way until this last July when she died...her daughter letting me know. 20000 kilometrees apart we comfortably wrote or chatted on the phone as though to 60 year gap was nothing. It think it meant a lot to both of us and I am so glad it happened that way.
ReplyDeleteHaibunilicious. I bow to the master poet.
ReplyDeleteGrief never ends. We learn to live with it.
ReplyDeleteA poignant read and a beautiful unfurling of your heart. Thank you for sharing.
Rosemary- you are so right; grief never ends. It only changes colors over time. There is such beauty and wisdom in your words.
ReplyDeleteThis is such a painful read, to lose a love, and knowing all the life ahead you had to walk alone, with the burden of your loss... Such part of your past is reflected in the later loss.. such a strong haibun
ReplyDeleteYou are so right Rosemary, grief never ends but we learn to live with it. This is so honest and true to the heart! This moved me to the core! Stunning indeed!!
ReplyDeleteThis love of yours feels like a big open question, perhaps many open questions. Maybe the openness is the most salient part of love...the most riveting and the most painful. This is quite a striking piece that I think probably reaches into the heart of anyone who has ever lost a loved one. Thank you for sharing it.
ReplyDeleteThis sits inside me like a warm cup of honey tea. Sweet and satisfying yet...when it is gone it is gone but the flavor remains on the tongue. I too have my lover which "he lives in the unsaid". That love of your past...how honestly and beautifully you have written of it. Hugs to you My Dear Rosemary.
ReplyDeleteThis is so deeply moving, Rosemary! I can feel various emotions coursing through me as I read your words and am led into the vividness of them. I resonate with "all loves are true," there is something so profound about that statement. Grief is a river within us .. sometimes the tide ebbs and sometimes it flows .. it's never too late to share and talk about it. I am sending you warm hugs and love!
ReplyDeleteA deep piece of writing that I just had to read to the end. Sharing grief does help (for me) to align thoughts and deal with emotions over time different way. I do so hope this works for you too.
ReplyDeleteThis brushes against one, the stranger in the crowd. A few meaningful overheard lines.
ReplyDeleteI think those loves we never mentioned are the ones we felt the most. The ones that will stay with us forever. I sometimes think one never stops grieving. (sigh) A very heartfelt and emotional piece.
ReplyDeleteThis is lovely, Rosemary - poignant and impactful, for so many reasons. Though, I am sure, it is impossible to adequately convey the depth of such a loss, I cannot imagine putting words to it more beautifully than you have done here. I am truly moved by this tenderly rendered, exquisitely written piece.
ReplyDeletei can so relate to this poem.
ReplyDeletewe tell ourselves to move on, and move on we did, but yes, that grief never ends, but we learn to live with it. but somewhere, somehow, at some unexpected time, it triggers. a familiar face, a scent, a song.
the rain falls again
cold needles on my face.
how i missed your warm hands.
-- dsnake1
What a beautiful old love story to read. :)
This had me in tears -
ReplyDeletedid we exist
if no one knows
First the way you brought that into the heart of the poem is stunning. Second I already want to write about that koan .. it made me cry and now it wants me to write. Thank you for this post. So much.
This is truly a soul-baring poem, that made me ache for your losses. The haiku is chilling.
ReplyDeleteThere's an honesty here that's so compelling. The bitter and the sweet are out in full display, neither one masking the other nor taking away from the depth of feeling. This is beautiful writing.
ReplyDelete