When grief strikes A second time I know what lies Ahead: The months of Emotional anguish, Crying jags, Learning once again How to live alone. It's such a plodding, Painful path, I wish I could take A shortcut and just Skip over the heartache To the healing. But I've discovered It's only trudging through The hurting part that Gets me there. |
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I pulled the book off
The shelf, One of my old MENDING Books, At least 20 years old. When I opened it, I was Surprised to see Jack's Name inside. It was his copy, one he Owned before we were Married. But I see he had an Inkling of our future, For it is filled with Yellow sticky notes, Comments he wrote to Me in reaction to my Poems. Beneath "Memory File" He penned, "Some things are too Painful to remember, Aren't they?" The sticky note stuck on "Lessons" states, "I too want to share what I've learned while Lying on His anvil- Oh to be like Him-to Have the mind of Christ." On the very last page Jack messaged: "You are a precious person. My prayer for you is that You will remain in the Very center of God's Will. That's where I want to be too. I don't know what That involves. Let's talk." Jack's humor shows Through too. I can almost hear his chuckle As he responded to "The Tightrope." "Did I ever tell you About being in the circus? I used to be a high wire Performer. Want some lessons?" :) And his thoughts on "Moving Ahead" were Pure Jack. "I'm not Price Charming. I'm not even charming, but I'll bet I could catch You w/my 21 speed." Yes, Jack did catch up to me. He captured me. He swept me off my feet And we rode off together, Our hearts beating as one. The notes caught me off Guard, stunned me. Jack's words from the past Were spanning the years, Communicating love to me In the present, And I was overcome. I clutched the little White book with the Ripped red heart on its Cover to mine. I let the dam break. Gasping for breath, My spirit groaned. The grief swirled around me Pulling me down into its spiral Until I finally gained control. Sitting downcast, crumpled In my chair, Sitting there, I pondered, Wondered, What would he write in My grief book now? What could he possibly say? Suddenly I knew. Once again, my dear Jack Came through. "Don't look down, Dorothy. Look up! It's your turn. Now I'm waiting for you To catch up with me." My friend,
Who is a widow too, Summed up grief Perfectly. "You don't ever get Over it. You just Get used to it." I'm still not quite There.
My daughter surprised
Me with an early Unique Mother's Day gift, A blog of my own. I'm so low tech, I Barely know what One is. But my high tech Daughter had it All set up, So I could hardly turn It down. She'll maintain it, She says. She'll do it all She says, Except the writing. That's my part. But what if my creative Juices dry up? What if I get writer's block? What if I can't handle it? But what if it's Jesus Opening this door? I guess I'd better walk Through it And find out.
I can tell I'm getting
Better when the Sharp, jagged, Constant pain Wears down To mostly a dull Ache.
Lord, please
Help my friend. She barely looks human Now, Her daughter told me. Teeth clenched, Skin taunt, Refusing to eat. She screams out, Moans, Trying to move. Her little girl, Grown up now, Can't bear seeing her Mom this way. Can you bear it Lord? Bear them up, Both of them Until you take her home. Her spirit's still in there Somewhere, And so are You. She's not alone. Please take her home.
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Dorothy Kalb Hsu Seitzinger
Writing poetry has helped me process and express my sorrows and joys, my concerns and blessings. "Life is hard, but God is good!" Archives
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