About Grief and Passing

 

I am deeply relating to John O’Donohue’s poem on grief (see below). 

The poem reminds me that going through grief is work, hard work`. I am working it and it is difficult. Yet we all know grief in one way or another. We also should know that grief delayed, not dealt with, will come back at a later date with vengeance! 

Grief should not a stranger to us, should it?  Grief comes with the territory of being human. It may be what makes us human.

Since Sabine died, I find myself rising early, somewhere between the hours of three and four. I get up because I have work to do. I don’t want to toss and turn trying to get back to sleep. So, I get out of bed and begin my day early.

In am sure my trusty companion, Mocha, wonders what is going on. But faithful dogs are good at adjusting. She is happy just to have me around. I watch what she does. I follow her lead. When I get tired, I nap.

This morning I reading some of the poems I wrote to Sabine during our courtship and when she was diagnosed with cancer. I was absolutely smitten by this young woman — I was 43, she was 28. 

`I was in a  personal and professional crisis when I met her and she helped, inspired, and showed me what love really was — self-giving, devoted togetherness. And having had the opportunity to love and cherish her for these 40 years seemed to make me a better person. Our attraction was a powerful chemistry. We literally were “joined at the hip” — as I said, smitten!

At the same time I struggle with her loss, I realize my own mortality. Who is David without Sabine? Yes, I have good health and am relatively frisky, but I am going to be 83 years old in a few months.

While she rests in my heart, I wonder where she would like me to go, what would she wants me to do? I know she wanted me to go on, but what does that mean? What is “going on”?

How shall I live without the beauty of her presence, companionship and earthly (and earthy) love? O’Donohue’s poem touches on this: he tells us “when the work of grief is done the wound of loss will heal.” I believe it is true, at least I hope it is. But I’m still working through this; the wound is still fresh.

Sabine loved this old farmhouse. She asked me to let her die here and in my arms, not in a sterile hospital setting. I promised I would do this. And as I sit here in this early winter morning, in the warmth of our wood stove, I feel her presence and warmth. I feel good about keeping my promises to her.

While I grieve, I am not experiencing the loss of what I would call her spirit. She has never left the “hearth” in my soul. I hope that feeling never passes. 

You may talk about a loved one “passing.” Not me. Sabine died. She has not passed. I won’t let her. I keep my promises.

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Grief

By John O’Donohue

Gradually, you will learn acquaintance 

With the invisible form of your departed;

And when the work of grief is done,

The wound of loss will heal

And you will have learn

To wean your eyes

From that gap in the air

And we able to enter the hearth

In your soul where your loved one

Has awaited your return

All the time. 

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