Tuesday Poem

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned that my father died in 2006 and this was the year that my now-husband and I decided it was the year we should get married. Largely because my dad was our favorite person and we were his favorite couple and we thought OH MY HOLY MOLY WE HAVE SUFFERED THIS OTHER-WORLDLY LOSS—WE SHOULD CREATE OUR OWN GIGANTIC JOYFUL GAIN and so we decided to wed. And we pictured how happy he would be and it propelled us into our life union.

But that’s not really the point. The point is that my father was on his way to receive the test results that would deliver his No Alzheimer’s – Yes Alzheimer’s sentence on SEPTEMBER ELEVENTH, TWO THOUSAND AND ONE. Right—you heard me. September 11th, 2001. 9-11.

While the rest of the world equates 9-11-01 with the most devastating terrorist attack our country has ever suffered, my family equates that day with the day that postponed the news that was delivered to us where we learned that our father would begin the slow decline into oblivion. The decline that all family members dread. The decline that, if you ADORE someone, is the decline that is that diagnosis you do not want to hear. How could you? If you love someone, the thing you wish for that person is that they don’t lose their mind slowly and painfully and in the most complicated and scary way you could imagine.

Capeci?

So. Here is the poem that I wrote, using the fuel of my father’s diagnosis. The diagnosis that eventually took him and that he, in the end, suffered with his particularly elegant form of GRATEFUL SWEETNESS…

It was as if we discovered that we were losing him from one moment to the next, however, we know that things aren’t always that way. We all knew in our hearts—my sister, my brother-in-law, my husband, ME—His Truest and Most Devoted Fans that we’d CREATE ANOTHER REALITY for ourselves simply because we loved him enough to pretend that it might not be happening and simply because we reflected his love for us back to him—and this was the thing that kept all of us going. Because of all the people for us NOT to lose it would have been him. And I tried to describe this in a poem.

What The Experts Don’t Tell You

It happens the way you’d fear it most
Not from one month to the next
but in one moment: predictable and happy
and in the next: all wrong

The people you hear about on the news
that could never be you
Are around the next corner
Waiting to exchange their life for yours

They want you to know
they don’t want to be virtuous
To make something meaningful from their pain
Or establish another foundation in their son’s name

They would rather you take their burden from them
Exchange their unwanted tragedy for your freedom
Your unknowing, precarious life
They’d snatch it from you in a minute
if they could

It’s Election Day and I always think of him on Election Day and so this post is for him. The Nicest Bolshevik I Have Ever Known.

Sincerely,
The Hopeful Griever

9 Comments on "Tuesday Poem"

  1. The Zadge says:

    Oh thank you, thank you, for reminding me of what I know, but don't practice nearly as often as I should, to love, love, and cherish those that you love!

  2. Twisted Susan says:

    I'm coming out there to give you a BIG hug right now.

  3. linlah says:

    Like you said, "in one moment", sometimes it's hard to remember and practice those moments.

  4. Joann Mannix says:

    Man, you took your grief and heartbreak and nailed it to a tree with this beautiful poem.

    And it's so true. I was jealous, still am somedays, of those who live their life still in the before phase of loss. I was one of them until a gorgeous blue skied day in April when my dad was here, healthy and singing his songs and the next, he'd left the face of the Earth and that was the day I first learned of heartbreak and loss of a magnitude so encompassing, I wasn't sure if I could ever be the same.

    We should never forget what that feels like. So, that the people still left here for us to love, know exactly how much we do love them.

    Kisses to you dad today. And big hugs and kisses to you.

  5. duffylou says:

    I'm a lurker but I had to comment today. Thanks for sharing your poem for your Dad.

    I still get angry that my Mom was chosen for this disease as well. But she is still here. Fighting. She take all the popular meds available. And I still have her.

    So thanks again for your moving post today.

  6. Cupcake Murphy says:

    Thank you all for reading and for your beautiful kindred words.

  7. The Subtle Rudder says:

    Oh, hopeful griever, you just made me weep.

  8. Meg at the Members Lounge says:

    BEAUTIFUL. AND HUGS!

  9. Dawn in Austin says:

    What a beautiful poem.

    I've always been close to my folks, but reading this reminded me how much I love them. So I called each one of them. Just to say Hello.

    Hugs for you today.

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