Son


Son

Life begun with joy and hope
sometimes ends in tragedy
and yet
nothing can take away
precious memories

Tricia 18/9/2013

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 September 28, 2013, in Poems. Bookmark the permalink. 9 Comments.

  1. This is so true Tricia, a warm reflecton wrapping ou cosily.

    Love and big hugs
    Xxx

  2. That is true. Your memories will stay with you forever

  3. Memories can be a real comfort – and the best bit is we get to choose which ones to replay more often….

    • Thanks, Pooky. One of the marvels of memory is we never know what will prompt a jewel from our treasure trove. I went to a grief workshop a few months ago where we were given 6 words, 8 minutes to write and told our title must have a verb in it. That was all it took for me to recover this wonderful memory.

      To Listen Silently is Everything

      He is dead, he is dead,
      I cried to the rising sun.

      I could recall vividly
      his first cry
      as he came forth from my womb
      26 years ago.
      My grief was higher than Everest,
      but my memories, ah my memories.
      They were more beautiful
      than the view
      from the highest mountain.

      His love for his dog, Digbee,
      the way he would come home from school,
      sit on the back deck
      and share his day with his dog.

      I would ask ‘How was your day?’
      ‘OK’ he’d reply.
      And to my ‘What did you do?’
      his response would be
      ‘Not much.’

      He saved his stories for
      his dog,
      the perfect listener.

      Home would never be the same
      again.

      Tricia 7/2013

      • I somehow missed this before. It’s beautiful – an amazing insight – I bet that dog saved him many times over before it finally became too much. I’ve worked with lots of young people who’ve felt happier confiding in a pet. The pet doesn’t worry like Mum or Dad would you see…

        I keep coming back here to see if you’ve written any more beautiful words. I hope you feel inspired soon xxx

  4. So much truth packed into a few brief lines!

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