My Son

My Son
As the anniversary of your death approaches
I’m longing for your dad
It’s not that I don’t long for you
Your absence
Is an ache beyond words
It’s living your absence alone
That peels the bark
From the tree of my life

Every anniversary
Dad and I would journey to
Squeaky Beach
During our years in Brisbane
We’d fly home in time for our
Pilgrimage to The Prom

I’m angry with my limitations
This failing body that refuses to obey
I want to lie prostrate
On the squeaky sand
Keen to the ocean
Be helped up and held
By the only person
Who truly understood

To share the stories
No one else knows
Drink your favourite French champagne
From tacky plastic flutes
Watch dad climb the rock
He’d stood on
As he waited for ebb tide
To scatter your ashes
Hold him when he returns
From his personal grief ritual

Darling boy I accept your right
To choose death
I ache for the suffering
That brought you to that choice
And I miss you
Oh how I miss you

Sometimes it’s hard
Being the last tree standing
As the gale force winds of life blow
I bend and sway
But for whatever reason
I don’t break
Surrounded by people
Who love and nurture me
Yet alone in my longing

You used to laugh and call me
A tree hugging hippy
I’m now a gnarled old gum
Longing to be hugged
By my boy and his dad

Tricia 8/2013

About triciabertram

I have written all my life. Writing helps me to make sense of a world I often don’t understand. Poetry is my supreme solace, closely followed by literature and music. When my son ended his life in 1999 I embarked on the most difficult journey of my life, my grief journey. To survive in this unknown, harsh landscape I had to write. It was for me, the only way I could even begin to move forward. Then in 2009 my darling husband died suddenly and so my journey continues. I write about other issues but because of my life experience, grief and death are continuing themes in my writing life. In our culture I believe there is a fear of death, an inability to accept the inevitability of our mortality, and this creates enormous difficulties for the bereaved and those around them. I have begun this blog in the hope I will create a small ripple in the pond of fear that is currently drowning the reality of death and grief. I will continue to skim the stones of my truth, watch them bounce, and see how many ripples I can make.

Posted on August 19, 2013, in Poems and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 7 Comments.

  1. This made me cry and cry. My sweet, distant friend Tricia, who faces life’s darkness and sadness with such powerful light and joy. I wish I could be there to help your body make its way to where it needs to go, to get you what you need, and shower you with beauty.

    • I’m sorry I’ve taken so long to reply to your comment, Corbyn. My iPad link has crashed and so I have to come to my main computer to make sure the reply goes to the correct person. Might sound easy, but it isn’t. I’m so glad you’re part of my life. I don’t always face life’s darkness with ‘powerful light and joy’, some days I can’t even try, but I do my best. Thanks again for sharing this. ❤

  2. You have a unique talent Tricia for placing your beautiful words in poems that become universal while so utterly and heartwrenchingly personal. This flows with all the love I can feel poured into it.

    Lots of love and a big hug that wont be enough, but all I can offer, along with my undying friendship. ❤ Xx

  3. Your words so perfectly placed, clarifies life’s dark side. ❤

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