attended together, an acquaintance came up and said to me, simply, “There’s someone missing.” That felt correct, in both senses.
—JULIAN BARNES
I swear I saw you leave—
bereft of words, feet dangling
above ground as though
deprived of bone and sinew,
light shining through
your worn garments.
Never again can I angle
against you, reattach
a button to your jacket.
You are gathered elsewhere,
alone and emptied. I see that,
the way, sometimes, one can
hear the end of a word before
its completion.
—JACQUELINE DERNER TCHAKALIAN
The autopsy showed a near-total occlusion in the left anterior descending artery, a major supplier of blood to the heart and a conduit so vital that physicians often refer to such a blockage as “the widow-maker.” It was unclear how long his heart had been diseased, but I blamed myself. I blamed myself for causing him stress during our bad patch. I blamed myself for not picking up on his fatigue or any other small symptoms he might have shown. I blamed myself for not probing a little more on the day before he died, when he called and sounded agitated. I would blame myself for years to come.
—KATIE HAFNER
I am distracted, disoriented, disconnected, pacing the house in circles, mindlessly retracing my steps over and over again....One afternoon I finally force myself to go looking for a new bed; it is my first and only outing toward that end, and it is an unmitigated disaster. I cannot believe I am doing this. I cannot believe I am talking to an overzealous salesman about buying a king-sized bed, which in itself sounds to me like a berserk act....
It is apparent that I cannot seriously think about buying a new bed. I cannot think about anything except the irrefutable fact that Bill is dead. The realization, which has been strangely slow in coming to me, death certificate and all—that I will never see him again, that I will never hear his voice again, that he is extinct—hits me like a roundhouse punch. I am on the ropes and there is no one here to get me back on my feet.
—RUTH COUGHLIN
The Stages of Grief:
Denial
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Acceptance
I cannot let go, cannot
follow the protocol, refuse
closure, refuse to doubt you
are about to slip back through
a loophole, undo the tricked-out
trickery of the spring your heart shut
down in the willful green of the thick
coming grass. I rage at you now as I did
not rage then. How could you
have left me to the futile pink
of the Red Bud preening
like a buffoon through the glass
of our bedroom window? Look:
I stand ready to make a deal.
Take what you need, then call it quits
with eternity. I know you grieve, too.
I will never ask another indulgence
from whatever it is we end by
calling upon in extremis. But you do
not, will not, did not, come back
for all this time I pass confounding
assumptions, eluding the rules
for healthy adjustment and getting on
with the rest of it I still cannot accept.
—CAROL TUFTS
imagine the earthquake—
it’s possible,
eventually
the big one
we all know
is coming to California
we should get ready
be prepared
the water, the food
flashlights and batteries
and some of us do that
make our little plans
to be brave and resourceful
to survive
the foundation cracking
the walls crumbling
the windows shattering
you think you know what it will be like
but you have no idea
when the walls begin to wail
and peel away from the house
when you can’t find your shoes or the dog
when shattered glass shreds your feet
when the air turns red
with sirens
when your world
dims black into loss
the foundation not cracked
but buried—
unimaginable
but possible
and it will be like nothing you’ve ever known
it will be like grief
—BARBARA ABERCROMBIE
Methought I saw my late espoused saint
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
Whom Jove’s great son to her glad husband gave,
Rescued from Death by force, though pale and faint.
Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint
Purification in the old Law did save,
And such as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in heaven without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure