My Brother has died

 

Source: mimiwickett
 

Gray still sky over

Roiling silver sea 

Soaking gold to slate

Slabs of sand.

Satin rocks, ancient rocks

Worn and beaten

Smooth by

Merciless waves.

My brother is dying.

 

Her whispers cast

To deaf waters.

Salt to salt,

Whispered over and over.

Three speckled rocks

Chosen by grace.

One rock resting

in a noisy room,

Whispering silently

 

My brother is dying...

One rock for bedside

Where whispers and tears merged.

One rock more--

At last, gazing at my

Blessed brother, eyes closed, 

In steel gray casket.

Tucking a smooth

Ocean stone into icy hand.

 

My brother has died.

Tears to tears,

Sea to earth,

Cold hand to warm,

Words silenced,

Whispers lie heavy
in the heart. 

 

 

 This was written shortly before Robert died. I often found myself sitting by the computer when it was dark and tried to compose something that would have meaning for others.

Robert and I were born in 1951, he in January and me in December. He was diagnosed with a incurable brain tumor in 1995.  So hard to think about even now.  Stacking of rocks is symbolic of many things...mourning...remembrance... a message...religion...love.

 

 

Changes in the Wind

 

Copyright Rochell Wisoff-Fields

Edith had stared

Out her window

For nearly 50 years.

Edith had watched

Weather changes,

Children playing,

Family picnics.

Today, fields

Were silent.

Her house was silent.

Edith herself was silent.

Last mourners had closed the door.

The parlor was overpowered with

The scent of roses and carnations.

The table held remnants of

Sandwiches and pie.

Edith did what she always did:

She cleaned up.

Now she stood at the kitchen window.

What to do? What to do, now?

Edith carried her suitcases

To the car,

Locked the house.

And left.

To where?

She did not know.

Everyone, at one time or another, looks at the empty house and winding road. Sometimes they close the door and start the car.  Sometimes the doors and cars remain silent, and sometimes the suitcase goes back in. Have you ever been there? I have.

Being Wrapped in Kindness

Never regret being kind

Anniversaries of personal tragedy are the hardest days for me.  The first year or the fifteenth year anniversary—time does not change the depth of grieving for the death of someone beloved.

It does not matter what day this grief hits me.

The anniversary day or any day, any year, remembering hits me.

This is Bill when he was in high school with his horse, Sonny

December 12, 1999 was the day my youngest brother Bill died, at age 44.  It was 11:30 at night, Sunday night.  His fiancée had phoned from Louisiana that afternoon at 2 PM to tell me that Bill was very ill and would be going into surgery to correct problems from a surgery done earlier that week. 

Very serious.  Septicemia.  Doctor says….

The rest of the day was spent in pacing around the house, calling the nurses’ station, pacing some more.  Until 11:30 that night.

On December 12, 2009, I sat, watching my granddaughters play.  The youngest, four year-old Sunshine noticed how quiet I was and how sad my face seemed.  She climbed up on my lap and asked in her little sweet voice if I was sick. 

I told her about my brother and how he had “gone to heaven” ten years ago.  Sunshine listened solemnly and nodded.  She knew about heaven since their dog Shelby had recently gone there, too.

“Well then, Grandma.  I’ll hold you 'til you feel better.”  Then she settled into my arms, laid her head upon my shoulder, and soaked love into my very being. 

I have never been given such a kind gift like this before, or since.

Who is cuddling whom?

Lucky mommy with 5 yr. old daughter!

This is a repost from 2009. It is 2020, eleven years ago. Sunshine is now 14+, taller than I am.  I could sit on her lap, but instead she curls up to me. I am blessed.

Wednesday Words: Great Aunt Tilly

Rest in Peace

The coffin of Great Aunt Tilly lay in state in the funeral home, surrounded by family, who mourned her passing.  Whispering between themselves, their depth of sorrow was on display.  

She was quite the grand personality…Well, she was one stingy b…When Tilly entered the room, who could ignore her?…she was evil, downright ev…she was the best mother…

No one could say with certainty when the door creaked open and a slow dense fog rolled in along the floor.  No one could describe how the temperature fluctuated between cold and colder.

Screaming, all stampeded from the funeral home to their cars and roared away.

Andrew Jones, the undertaker, and his son Richard were speechless at first. Then Richard cleared his throat, “Well, you don’t see that every day.”

The creator of Wednesday Words is Delores at Under the Porchlight. She passed the baton to other bloggers, wonderful bloggers. Elephant's Child also shares the words at her site, and comments can be found there. My turn is the month of November.  Who will be in December or January?  Wait and see.