DEATH Poem: Grief, by Sean Newman

Grief is funny.
Usually we accept the things we hear when we’re told them
Gas is expensive… it sure is
I need you to work late tonight… so it goes
See? Pretty easy
Unless the news is bad. Then there’s denial.
He was driving home late at night… you know how high his blood pressure is… her cancer is back
You hear these words over the phone. First it rings. Perhaps your mind is playing tricks on you, but the tone of the phone is threatening.
It’s an awfully strange hour… why aren’t they texting me?… we just talked this morning.
You’re scared, but all you say is hello. They say hello back. Not how’s it going, or I hope you’re doing well. They just say hello.
All you can do is wait. Wait for seconds… or is it years?
Sometimes you’re on the edge of your seat, or waiting with bated breath. Not here, not now. It’s as if you’re hovering at the top of the Eiffel Tower, waiting to be throttled down to the ground far below
They’re gone… it was sudden… it was a long time comin’
You sigh in disbelief. You ask questions. You offer platitudes. Finally you hang up, and they move on to the next person
Disbelief. Denial.
Denial is disbelief you choose to embrace.
Either way, you go about your day. You meal prep, dust, or shovel your driveway. Over
time, the realization finds its way into the contours of your mind. That’s when it hits you.
That’s when you say
They’re gone.
Forever, from this point on. They’re gone.
What do you do now?
You remember.
You try harder than you’ve ever tried before to remember the little pieces of their lives.
You share these with others and in return they give you more pieces to remember.
You remember together.
Sometimes this is enough, but sometimes it’s not.
You’re not protected anymore by denial. The implications of their absence are
sometimes so apparent you can’t stand it.
They’re gone. Forever, from this point on.
But what can you do, but remember?
Grief is a funny thing. First you deny it, then you embrace it… then… I don’t know. I’m
not sure what will happen next.

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