They leak out of my eyes and run down my face in small rivers.
I am now used to their comings and goings;
they are unbidden at times,
whilst at other times they are triggered by a memory.
... by a song.
Sometimes they fall from my face in a gushing waterfall to wet my blouse
or fall to the floor at my feet,
while other times they dry on my cheeks leaving their faint trace of salt.
They are like a nosy neighbour -
if you don't let them in every so often, they catch you off guard when you'd rather they left you alone....
I know them too well.
I am now used to their comings and goings;
they are unbidden at times,
whilst at other times they are triggered by a memory.
... by a song.
Sometimes they fall from my face in a gushing waterfall to wet my blouse
or fall to the floor at my feet,
while other times they dry on my cheeks leaving their faint trace of salt.
They are like a nosy neighbour -
if you don't let them in every so often, they catch you off guard when you'd rather they left you alone....
I know them too well.
They have haunted me lately, often waking me from sleep,
or unleashing in the shower, late at night when I am finally alone.
.... but not wanting to be alone...
.... but not wanting to be alone...
wanting...
needing him to be HERE with me.
Where I can rest my head on his chest and finally exhale.
Oh Amanda that is so beautiful. You brought a tear to my eye. Know that feeling so well. Big hugs to you from down under.
ReplyDeleteYes. I used o curl around my husbands back and lay my cheek against his skin so I could feel him breathe. He was this presence of love and I miss that so much.
ReplyDeleteI too find if I don't let the tears come when they are there. I end up crying more frequently and for longer periods of time. I am still amazed at a year and a half out that I can be reduced to my knees on the floor sobbing.
I always thought of myself as a stoic and private person.
Yet I have cried in public, in elevators, in my car, in the middle of a music concert. I will always love my husband so those tears will always be there.
With the weather changing in Canada - spring and the newness and beauty of this season, it's renewal - I feel both sad and happy at the same time. Sad because his birthday is in the spring and he loved the season. Happy because it is here again and it reminds me of him and growth and renewal and I want to believe that is possible. So like the tears, the rain reminds me life carries on.
Peace.
yeah.
ReplyDeleteAmanda, thanks! Yes, I am haunted by tears at the most unexpected moments. Just like Anon above who is surprised at the tears still coming at 1.5 years, I share the same but my time is just over 2 years. I think the tears will always be there hopefully slowly being choked off by the happier times but still needing to be released when a trigger hits.
ReplyDeleteThank you Amanda. Said so lovely, by you and Anon above. I too feel the same, and at 2 yrs. Only this morning at work it happened, unexpedily. The first year every single day were full of tears, it would amaze me that I could shed so many tears and it was humanly possible. The pain in our hearts is very deep, and it shows....hugs & tissues
ReplyDeleteThis is so accurate. As I read, I can feel each emotion. The last sentence wraps it up so perfectly.
ReplyDelete" Where I can rest my head on his chest and finally exhale." How I long to do just that. It seems I am holding my breath, waiting for him to come home.
Thank you for the beautiful poem.
Holding my breath... yes! That's what I've been doing, waiting to exhale. Will I ever have that relaxing moment ever agin? Where I can exhale, relax and know that because I'm wrapped around him, that everything will be alright. Because no latter what, for as long as we were together, everything would be just fine.
ReplyDeleteThanks for putting into these beautiful words what I've been unable to express for 2 years, 7 months and 3 weeks.
I shared this with my recently widowed daughter-in-law...she could have written them...I want her to know she is not alone...I'm sorry for your loss.
ReplyDeletePhyllis McGeath