(or, The Beginning of Winter)
Jim, who was my age, died today
at 2pm his daughter's email said.
He was my husband Bill's best mate
since they were wild young lads.
Later, a good friend to me too.
Best man at our wedding. 'His family
was my family, and mine his,' he said
in Bill's funeral oration decades later.
His Joy went on ahead six months ago.
Since then I've phoned him once or twice,
exchanged emails ... the last few days
he was so much on my mind, I meant to call.
And Bill, too, has been around a lot.
Now I think I know why, for both.
I was remembering already, this last week,
his words for Bill. A reminder?
There's only me left of the four of us,
who married about the same time,
whose kids were like cousins. They're all
in middle age, with children of their own,
still I resolve to travel the long miles
to help lay Jim to rest. I'm now
the only one of that generation here –
not blood, but very close family.
‘Aunty Rosemary,' the emailer
called me. As always.
called me. As always.
I look back over the years;
I phone my son and cry.
The sun starts going down
behind the mountains.
The air develops a chill.
Grey clouds fill the sky.
(For those who may wonder – I was married to Bill for 27 years, before I was married to Andrew.)
PS Travel to the funeral from where I live proves complicated, costly and time-consuming, so after all I'll be staying home and saying my own prayers here instead.
