i feel like
i have not seen you
in forever,
or at least a lifetime,
or at least a year.
it has been exactly
95 days.
is that all?
how long does grief last?
100 days?
200?
365?
“it gets better.”
is the unsolicited advice
offered.
what exactly is the “it?”
that gets better?
instead of balm,
the words are laced with salt
poured into my tender,
wounded
heart.
what is the name of the thorn?
is it the lack of hope?
no.
i hope for a blessed reunion.
is it unspoken words?
no.
i said my peace.
is it the unknown?
no.
i believe.
the ache is in the parting,
separation is the dagger.
so tell me,
how does that get better
with more time?
can time stitch up
the grand canyon?
it gets better.
it gets better.
it gets better.
no.
on day 100
or 200,
or 365,
i may nod my head
in acquiescence.
after the senses lose their memory.
the intensity lessens.
laughter is owned again.
smiles creep in as before.
when the sun rises.
but for tonight,
on day 95,
the separation
is not better.
This and other fine poems available on Amazon
The thing people never tell you is that it gets harder before “it gets better.”
Eventually you learn to cope, you get used to the hole as well as you can. But although it does get better, the grief never goes away – which is as it should be for those of us who had such wonderful mothers.
Thank you. I don’t know why the well-intentioned sentiment gets to me. It’s something I’d say to someone. I appreciate (as always) your words of wisdom.