All my life's a circle
Two of my friends, two of my Four Angels are currently dealing with the loss of a parent. One mother, one father, each about to close the book of life.
I feel so helpless at these times. Yes, I have lost my parents, and shouldn't that make me more understanding? In a way, yes, but ultimately, no. The loss of a parent, a husband, a wife, a child is so personal, so wrenching, so tied up with positives and negatives that only we as individuals facing the situation ourselves fully comprehend the swirl of intense emotions; those on the outside, even those of us who mean well, can only be there for our friends, to help them through the time, but never fully understanding what goes on in the heart.
ONE
(1977)
One.
Only one.
We understand the loss of one less
Than that of many.
Many are easier.
You do not know many.
You cannot comprehend many.
You only know one.
The death of one.
I wrote that back in high school before I had had to come to terms with the loss of anyone, realistically. I had lost my grandfather years before, but my parents had hidden the fact from me and so I never really processed the event -- it happened, it happened a while ago, others dealt with the situation, now it was long past. I wrote that poem actually in response to a horrible poem an English teacher of mine had written about Kennedy's assassination -- in many ways I wrote this poem in annoyance that something so nearly mythological could be so trivialized. And yet, years later, I have found this is one of my poems that has truly stood by me and mine.
No one can know, however, how they will react to a death until it is there for them to see. Some of us grow up attending funerals as commonly as we attend weddings and other major social events; some of us are "shielded" from these events, because we would be "too young to understand". Funerals, wakes, and other remembrances for those who have passes are as important as the celebrations of births and weddings; they are part of the fabric of society and we need to acknowledge them as such. Still, each of us will attend a funeral (etc.) in a very private space; each of us will bring a different range of emotions to the event, sometimes quite at odds with the prevailing feeling. But this is right and correct as well.
I remember the first funeral I attended. This was not until I was in my mid-20s and was living in New Hampshire; the one who had died was a small boy, only about 5 years old. His name was Adam. The child died due to cancer brought on by an unmarked toxic waste dump left behind from the 1950s that no one had bothered to clean up, much less put on a map. In that district, eventually about 9-10 children died. And four marriages ended in the ensuing trauma. But the funeral itself was so rough. Adam's father had been a carpenter, a joiner; he and his friends had carefully constructed Adam's casket; it was a work of art in polished wood and brass. Adam was laid down with his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle footy sleeper and his He-Man sword. Two men could have carried the coffin with ease, but six were there, because that was the honour due. Robin hadn't really wanted to go, but I felt it was absolutely necessary -- these were not folks from our Inner Core, but they were part of our wider community. There was a homily and eulogy (admittedly the latter was shorter than might be normal, but it was none the less touching), and his father and a friend gently lowered the casket into the earth. I went down to my knees at that point, lowered my head and started crying ... and then I felt it. Hands. Hands on my back and arm. All the children from the community were coming over to me and putting their hands one me. I don't know if they were expecting me to make things right, to say something to make it better, or just wanted some basic comfort and contact, but all those little hands ... I can still feel them to this day. It was a day when I had no words.
Lisa, Rowan, I grieve for you. If I could find a way to take this burden away, I would, and yet I know that is a foolish wish. Lees, I met your dad, and I will miss his determination; Rowan, I only ever talked to Mama, but that was enough to know some of your roots. Maybe we can't truly do something about the specifics of this situation, but know that you have friends who will aid you with the emotions to come. We will be here for you, in love.
All my life's a circle;
Sunrise and sundown;
Moon rolls thru the nighttime;
Till the daybreak comes around.
All my life's a circle;
But I can't tell you why;
Season's spinning round again;
The years keep rollin' by.
Harry Chapin at his best.
I feel so helpless at these times. Yes, I have lost my parents, and shouldn't that make me more understanding? In a way, yes, but ultimately, no. The loss of a parent, a husband, a wife, a child is so personal, so wrenching, so tied up with positives and negatives that only we as individuals facing the situation ourselves fully comprehend the swirl of intense emotions; those on the outside, even those of us who mean well, can only be there for our friends, to help them through the time, but never fully understanding what goes on in the heart.
ONE
(1977)
One.
Only one.
We understand the loss of one less
Than that of many.
Many are easier.
You do not know many.
You cannot comprehend many.
You only know one.
The death of one.
I wrote that back in high school before I had had to come to terms with the loss of anyone, realistically. I had lost my grandfather years before, but my parents had hidden the fact from me and so I never really processed the event -- it happened, it happened a while ago, others dealt with the situation, now it was long past. I wrote that poem actually in response to a horrible poem an English teacher of mine had written about Kennedy's assassination -- in many ways I wrote this poem in annoyance that something so nearly mythological could be so trivialized. And yet, years later, I have found this is one of my poems that has truly stood by me and mine.
No one can know, however, how they will react to a death until it is there for them to see. Some of us grow up attending funerals as commonly as we attend weddings and other major social events; some of us are "shielded" from these events, because we would be "too young to understand". Funerals, wakes, and other remembrances for those who have passes are as important as the celebrations of births and weddings; they are part of the fabric of society and we need to acknowledge them as such. Still, each of us will attend a funeral (etc.) in a very private space; each of us will bring a different range of emotions to the event, sometimes quite at odds with the prevailing feeling. But this is right and correct as well.
I remember the first funeral I attended. This was not until I was in my mid-20s and was living in New Hampshire; the one who had died was a small boy, only about 5 years old. His name was Adam. The child died due to cancer brought on by an unmarked toxic waste dump left behind from the 1950s that no one had bothered to clean up, much less put on a map. In that district, eventually about 9-10 children died. And four marriages ended in the ensuing trauma. But the funeral itself was so rough. Adam's father had been a carpenter, a joiner; he and his friends had carefully constructed Adam's casket; it was a work of art in polished wood and brass. Adam was laid down with his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle footy sleeper and his He-Man sword. Two men could have carried the coffin with ease, but six were there, because that was the honour due. Robin hadn't really wanted to go, but I felt it was absolutely necessary -- these were not folks from our Inner Core, but they were part of our wider community. There was a homily and eulogy (admittedly the latter was shorter than might be normal, but it was none the less touching), and his father and a friend gently lowered the casket into the earth. I went down to my knees at that point, lowered my head and started crying ... and then I felt it. Hands. Hands on my back and arm. All the children from the community were coming over to me and putting their hands one me. I don't know if they were expecting me to make things right, to say something to make it better, or just wanted some basic comfort and contact, but all those little hands ... I can still feel them to this day. It was a day when I had no words.
Lisa, Rowan, I grieve for you. If I could find a way to take this burden away, I would, and yet I know that is a foolish wish. Lees, I met your dad, and I will miss his determination; Rowan, I only ever talked to Mama, but that was enough to know some of your roots. Maybe we can't truly do something about the specifics of this situation, but know that you have friends who will aid you with the emotions to come. We will be here for you, in love.
All my life's a circle;
Sunrise and sundown;
Moon rolls thru the nighttime;
Till the daybreak comes around.
All my life's a circle;
But I can't tell you why;
Season's spinning round again;
The years keep rollin' by.
Harry Chapin at his best.