My friend Tom has asked me to read something in honor of his wife, my friend, Carol, at her memorial on the solstice. It seems fitting that I write some lines for this, for her. In some ways, I've been composing these in my head since she was first diagnosed with breast cancer, some seventeen years ago. That's a long time to contemplate, to let an idea simmer on way-low-low-low, barely any flame until now. And what do I have, so far? Oh, so very little.
How does one define a life, a friendship, in two or three minutes? I wrote her a poem years ago, post-mastectomy, about gathering all the rain-sodden delphiniums in my garden and carrying them to her door. Today at Trader Joe's, in this late-May downpour, there were foil-wrapped pots of river-blue delphiniums for sale at the entrance.
My inclination is to revisit other deaths, to reside there for just a bit. Forgive me for what I expect to be a continued melancholy, here. At least until I can get this worked out.
I am with you, friend.
ReplyDeleteAnd I seem to remember a poem that you posted soon after she died.
Perhaps that?
Keeping you both in my thoughts.
Go Gently, T. Your melancholy is honouring of your dear friend, Carol; such an ache for you. Thinking of you. L, C
ReplyDeleteno need, dear one, to ask forgiveness for your melancholy. You have lost a great friend and that knocks you around for awhile.
ReplyDeletexxoo
take all the time you need your words matter and your love shows auntie shell
ReplyDeletetake all the time you need your words matter and your love shows auntie shell
ReplyDelete