…of my very much loved Grandfather, who passed away this Wednesday, March 5th, 2008.
How to write, what to write, if to write…but it seems impossible to not write. Just as much as this blog is a record of all the happy blessings in my life it is also a record of the things that can be so difficult to deal with. And as hard as this is, my Grandfather was very much, and will always be, a happy blessing in my life.
But as much as I love to write, the words don’t come as easily in a time like this. What do you say when you lose someone who was so full of love, and fun, and happiness all of the time? Who always gladly had every minute for you? Who every single time he saw you, welcomed you with a smile and a hug and made sure you knew you were loved?
On Wednesday night, I looked for words for comfort, some words that would resonate with what I was feeling, something that might help me make sense of how hard it is to lose someone who is so important to you, but someone who was also very ill and ready to go. I turned to Mark Doty, my favorite author and poet, and I found it in his book Atlantis, “Nocture in Black and Gold.” I’ll leave you with the final lines of this poem, with the words that spoke to me that night:
Doesn't everything rush to be something else? Won't it be like this, where you're going: shore and bay, harbor and heaven one continuum sans coast or margins? No one's here, or hardly anyone, and how strangely free and fine it is to be laved and extended, furthered in darkness, while shadows give way to other shadows, and the bay murmurs its claim: You're a rippling, that quick, and you long to be loose as air again, unfettered freshness, atmosphere and aria, an aspect of fog, manifest, and then dissolving, which you could regret no more than fog. A brave candling theory I'm making for you, little lamplight, believe, and ripple out free as shimmer is. Go. Don't go. Go.
Knittymama 