My sister’s house sits atop a windy knoll and tonight the chimes are sounding before midnight. The clear open sky lets the light of a near-full moon fall to ground; its shimmering silver covers like fall fields the hoarfrost. Far beyond the moonlight shine the brightest stars against the whitewashed night.
How to build a new world when one of the cornerstones has vanished? I am not the first to have something so integral cut and ripped away. But this is the first loss that has felt so violent. The chaos in its wake seems the energy of the unlived portion of his life cut loose all at once. So, how do you rebuild a world? Like this.
In the wind, his voice whispers,
Speaks of dreams he could have lived.
In the stars, his shining eyes watch
Over those of us still living.
In the sun, his unfettered love fills
Our world beneath blue skies.
In the moon, his gentle tears fall,
Solace for his mother’s cries.
Now, take all my grief, my sorrow, and multiply it by infinity. That is what my sister feels. That is what memory brings upon waking. There is no true solace for such a grief, only the knowledge that time will dull the edge, but never fully cast away its full force. I am a simple rock in that chaotic sea of grief. All I can be is that one place of immovable calm, gentle equanimity, where, hopefully, she can find peace.