Why Couldn't You Stay?
You walked away; you left us
Bereft, bereaved.
How could you go?
It wasn't your doing,
I know, I know.
Yet, how could you go?
Two years passed and gone,
Slipped away.
After you'd left, I'd think
I'll call her; I'll email.
Oh no! None of that!
You won't answer.
Now I know you're gone.
No thoughts of visits to come,
Seeing your face, hearing your voice,
The sound of your laughter.
Sadness lingers, emptiness remains.
Why couldn't you stay?
Grandmère Mimi - 04-27-08
Yesterday was the second anniversary of the death of my sister, Gayle, from pancreatic cancer. I still miss her. The picture above was taken on the grounds of the Tower of London during a trip we made together. I stopped to take a picture of the
Reposted from last year. Another year has gone by, but it's no easier. I still miss her quite a lot. All the same words apply, except that another year has passed.
I'm sorry, Mimi. Sometimes I think the whole reason I'm a Christian is I hate death and what it does to us all so much. I can't fix it, but I can just sit here and grieve with you for a bit.
ReplyDeleteDear Grandmere Mimi,
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry for your loss...your picture and poem say it all.
My daughter died five years ago this week, and I'll be missing her the rest of my life.
~Lisa
In my thoughts today.
ReplyDeleteOh Mimi and Lisa....
ReplyDeleteNo words, just tears for you both...
Mimi, so many prayers and as Erika says, tears as well. We walk together in our joy but in our grief and sadness as well.
ReplyDeleteAnd for Lisa as well as anyone who is mourning loss...
Mimi I can't help but reminded how Gayle and her impact on your life is so very much a part of your blogging life and your very mission on this earth.
What a beautiful and ongoing gift that is, what a beautiful and ongoing gift you truly are.
Mimi, the hole in your heart will always be there. The picture and your poem and the memories and the love will always be there too.
ReplyDeleteThat photo really captures it all. They go on into the greater life and we can't follow until our time. For me Auden captures the feelings when we grieve - life moves on around us while we have the huge gap that few seem to notice.
ReplyDeleteMimi,
ReplyDeleteThank you for posting this. My heart goes out to you.
Five years ago last week my beloved husband of 24 years died suddenly, no chance for goodbyes. It has been a challenging journey and, though it gets different, it does not get easier. I like to think that the joyful memories now are more in balance with the loss -- but the hole remains.
Mimi,
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry about the pain of her early loss must come with the achingly wonderful memories. Gayle will be remembered not only by those who knew and loved her but also by all those impacted by her, through you, in your thoughts and essays here.
Sisters are so special. I am so thankful for my two sisters- they are my best friends. Of course, I love my brother too.
ReplyDeleteI cannot begin to fathom the pain of losing a sister. Even starting to think about it makes me tear up.
I am so sorry for your loss.
God bless you Grandmere.
ReplyDeleteBut loved ones don´t go anywhere, it´s just that you can´t see loved ones after they die, you can feel them...it´s like love, it´s not visible but often there are outward signs of it...just look how you´ve conveyed that love to us regarding your Grandson and your Sister.
ReplyDeleteThank you all. To those of you who have lost loved ones, I offer my prayers and my sympathy.
ReplyDeleteLisa, I've thought that losing a child must be the worst. It's not right; it's out of order.
We don't really lose those we love, and we shall meet again. And, as my five year old grandson said years ago, "If you love them, they live in your heart".
I know Auden's poem and the Breughel painting well, Ann.
I took a small Christmas pin as a memento of my sister, and when I wear the pin, I feel her presence. It's a lovely thing.
For me the hardest part is wanting to call your loved one and remembering that they are no longer there. You are in my thoughts.
ReplyDeleteI pray for your loss. It is strange that some stay in our hearts and we look for them everywhere when they're gone.
ReplyDeleteI'll be thinking about you today, Mimi.
ReplyDeleteAll my sympathy on this anniversary. You picked a sad spot to photograph your sister. The church is where many of those executed in the Tower - among them Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard - were hastily buried.
ReplyDeleteI still think of picking up the phone to call Gayle or sending her an email. I told that to my brother-in-law just now. I said, "I could still send her an email, but I doubt that I'd hear back." He said, "Let me know if you do".
ReplyDeleteHe sounds pretty well. I'm blue, but I try to keep the sense of humor alive.
I'm surprised that no one this year or last year noted my mistake about the name of the chapel in the picture. Usually my readers are helpful in correcting mistakes, but I saw that one all on my own. Maybe someone noticed but was too kind to say.
Lapin, the Tower is a sad place, with all the deaths associated with it, but it's appropriate to the occasion for which I use it.
As I said in our telephone conversation I was handling the day fairly well - purposely making it busy. Reading your post and seeing the picture (which I also have on a bedside table) brought back a flood of memories and an outpouring of tears. Guess I needed that. She IS sorely missed by many.
ReplyDeleteFrank, thanks for leaving a word. Sorry if I made you cry, but I hope it was for the best. Tears are sometimes healing.
ReplyDeleteMaybe I won't use the picture next year.
Dear GM, thank you for this testimony to loss and hope. In a strange way, the visits continue, but in different form -- in the memories, or as you say the sudden momentary urge to pick up the phone or type out an email.
ReplyDeleteIf being is about relationship, the relationship continues even after the passing of the flesh -- in the heart and in the memory, and ultimately in God the preserver and cherisher of all that was and is and is to come.
God bless you, T.
Grief touches grief. When we lose someone, it touches all the places of grief and makes it deeper. Even some one else's loss touches our own sense of loss - as yours does my own.
ReplyDeleteThe world is diminished by Gail's loss. Know that you are not alone in your grief, Mimi, dear. And, you are much loved.
How could I not know that I'm loved when I'm blessed with with so many kind words from all you beautiful people?
ReplyDeleteElizabeth, yes, your daughter and your mother. Prayers for your grief, too, my friend.
Praying for you and everyone who is remembering a loved one who has gone ahead but is still present in loving memories.
ReplyDeleteRudo
Oh, Mimi, praying for you, dear.
ReplyDeleteMimi, I read this at work and wanted to comment but waited until this evening. What a beautiful tribute to Gayle and to your relationship.
ReplyDeleteI can do nothing to take away the ache, nor would I want to in the sense that it is a sign of the depth of loss, in turn a sign of the depth of love. But I am glad so much love surrounds you when you pause to feel your loss.
Blessings on you and Frank at this time. May tears truly be healing.
Many thanks to all of you for your lovely and comforting words.
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ReplyDeleteThoughts and hugs with you, dear Gran'mere. I admit to being terrified by loss.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry for your loss, Mimi. You're in my thoughts.
ReplyDeleteIt's been 9 years since my father died. It does not get easier. We just learn to live with the loss.
ReplyDeleteMy deepest sympathies for yours.
Grief is strange. I go for long periods without attacks of grief, and then something will trigger an onset. At other times, I'm blindsided with no trigger. It just strikes.
ReplyDeleteOf course, anniversaries are usually triggers. This year was worse than last year, which I find odd. Grief should ease over time, or so I thought. I suppose you're right, Counterlight. We simply learn to live with loss.
The second anniversary is often harder than the first for some reason. A sign of our love but hard. Odd things trigger grief - a sensory cue often. A friend whose daughter died at age 11 - 30 years ago - still gets caught when setting the table and putting an extra place out.
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