Poetry Friday: The Letter

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 For more Poetry Friday, stop over with Sheri Doyle, our host this week.

During the month of January, my blog posts have been primarily recounting the grieving process I experienced after the loss of a child, a full-term stillbirth many years ago. The impetus for revisiting this period of my life was the expected death of my father. While writing these posts, I opened myself to the deep sadness that I knew was approaching. In a way, I began the grieving process before he was gone, and Allison's death was the tool for allowing me to go there.

Daddy died almost two weeks ago. These two weeks have been full of grace and peace. Yesterday I wrote my memorial to this dear man. I am working my way back to a normal routine that no longer includes a regular visit to his assisted living apartment. This poem is rich in the emotions that play through me as I think of him.

Next week, I hope to finish the story of Allison. Once started, I feel strongly that I need to complete this accounting. For myself and for anyone else who needs to hear this journey. Thanks for reading.

This was a Father's Day card I gave to my dad years ago. The inside message said: Dad, Next to your heart is still my favorite place to be!

He wrote a response on the facing page: I wish my heart was bigger, then I could be closer to you. H.

THE LETTER
by: Thomas Bailey Aldrich (1836-1906)

 HELD his letter in my hand,

And even while I read

The lightning flashed across the land

The word that he was dead.

 

How strange it seemed! His living voice

Was speaking from the page

Those courteous phrases, tersely choice,

Light-hearted, witty, sage.

 

I wondered what it was that died!

The man himself was here,

His modesty, his scholar's pride,

His soul serene and clear.

 

These neither death nor time shall dim,

Still this sad thing must be--

Henceforth I may not speak to him,

Though he can speak to me!