grief | Bertram's Blog

Searching For Happy Memories

April 2, 2010 — Pat Bertram

I’ve been searching for happy memories to take the edge off the memory of watching my lifemate die so painfully, and one I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is a day I visited him at the store he owned. We spent hours talking — about life, books, history, moving from one topic to another as easily as if we’d known each other a lifetime instead of just a few months — and then he walked me outside. This is the poem I wrote when I got home that night:

you turned around
and waved to me
after we said good-bye
a small gesture
that told me more
than all the words
we had spoken

I wish I could have just one more word, one more wave from him.

Posted in culture, grief, life, writing. Tags: grief, love, poem. 6 Comments »

A Tribute to a Fallen Mate

March 31, 2010 — Pat Bertram

Yesterday I mentioned that once upon a time I wrote snippets of poetry. That time coincided to when I met the man who would share my life, and some of the snippets I wrote are poignant to me now because they chronicle my first feelings for him. A private man, he would be appalled that I am writing about him, but I didn’t want his life to pass unnoticed by all but me. Though written long ago, this bit still fits him:

you give
(not lightly
the figments of this world
but)
your reality
and your radiance
(your soul)

Posted in culture, grief, life, writing. Tags: grief, love, poem. 8 Comments »

Grief Is It’s Own Country

March 30, 2010 — Pat Bertram

Once a long time ago I imagined myself a poet. I wrote snippets of thoughts, which I am gradually posting on my Quantum (Uni)Verse Blog. Odd to think that when I was young and knew nothing of grief, I wrote this. It sure is true. As someone recently told me, “Grief is it’s own country.”

I am alone in my universe
As you are alone in yours . . .

And when I hold you in my arms
I can sometimes touch your happiness
But your grief is light years away

Posted in grief, life, writing. Tags: grief. 1 Comment »

Remembering

March 29, 2010 — Pat Bertram

Still in the throes of a weepfest. Here is another poem about dealing with grief. Feel free to share poems that have helped you get through rough times.

Remember by Christina Rossetti

Remember me when I am gone away,
            Gone far away into the silent land;
            When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
            You tell me of our future that you plann’d:
            Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
            And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
            For if the darkness and corruption leave
            A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
            Than that you should remember and be sad.

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Posted in culture, grief, life, writing. Tags: Christina Rossetti, grief, poem, Remember. 13 Comments »

Funeral Blues

March 28, 2010 — Pat Bertram

One of the best descriptions of grief I have ever read is Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden. If you’ve seen the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral, you are familiar with Auden’s words, but for those who have never seen the poem, I am posting it here (and hoping I am not infringing on Auden’s copyright). Feel free to join my weepfest by sharing your favorite poem of loss or grief.

Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.