It has been a year since my partner died
in that hospital bed at home,
surrounded by family and friends,
struggling and agitated
until peace finally comes.
Funny, his name is Peace.
All are glad to see the
suffering end, but we are
just at the start of our own suffering.
I take a long time with him
during his transition,
making sure I am with him on his journey.
I touch him, hold him close,
then release him to the waiting undertakers.
I watch as they gently place him in a bag,
carry him on a gurney to the hearse,
drive off and round that corner,
out of sight.
Forever. Incomprehensible, but true.
That one person who shared
the profound, the mundane, the thrilling,
who had my back,
interested in day to day life events.
We shared a common language,
jokes only known to us,
adventures and hard times,
building up a store of memories
which burn with a knowing that
they will never happen again.
One day they will be a comfort,
as he will carry on, integrated
into the very fiber of my being.
But not yet. The pain is still too great.
About the Author
Elsa Lichman is a retired social worker who has experienced a great deal of loss. She finds writing about it and sharing her journey with grief to be therapeutic. In retirement she has turned to the arts for solace, creativity, joy, and healing. She hopes others will find her writing helpful.
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