SCATTERED WORDS

It's been another busys morning.  First, breakfast with a friend, then, while browsing in Whole Foods, I was greeted by another old friend.  She and I sat and talked for a long time.  The women who clean my house have just arrived, so I'll soon be off to the gym.  Maybe I'll also see a movie.  I'ts another of those sunny, cold days, so, as much as I'd like to go for a bike ride,  there's still not much that can be done out-of-doors.

A friend from church whom I know through the bereavement group I attended at Arbor Hospice got in touch with me, and we plan to meet later this week to talk about stuff.  We agree that we are both experts on the topic of regression, meaning that, as she states it, grief is not linear, it sneaks up and overwhelms, seemingly out of nowhere.  Then there's the whole matter of the sense of incompleteness I feel when I think about what happens next.  Gwen wants me to get on with my life, and I think about that, but so far I don't have a clear sense of direction about where I might be headed.  There's an old Quaker saying that I like, A way will show.  Meanwhile, I enjoy writing about all this, even though most of it is pretty raw and incomplete.  This poem is about that:

SCATTERED WORDS

Way more than a hundred days

gone by without her.

Look about.  What do I see?

snatches of poems on scrap paper,

pieces of poetry on pads, partial

poetry is everywhere,

all of it incomplete, unfinished,

not good enough to be abandoned.

Is that what I have to show for it?

All those days of missing her?

Words scattered here and there.

John A. Bayerl, March 2, 2011

I can't help but remember how we talked about completing each other.  It's no surprise then that I find myself with this feeling of incompleteness.  You really did make my life complete in more ways than I ever realized.