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Stop.
Just stop. No more running away. She’s gone. You watched her slip away. Died. The stark reality we all had to accept. Treatment. The harshness of trying to save. Prolong. Make comfortable. Say Goodbye. Rage. The bickering. The recrimination we all sought To justify our place in her life. Our status. Her brother, her mother, her partner, Her son. Who was bestowed with the greater reason for Grief? The greater reason for not moving on. Let Go. Time to throw the ashes into the wind. Who holds the greater handful? Intones the parting words? Then she is gone and, in that instant, we stare at one another, Bewildered by how we find ourselves now defined. Ashamed. Caught in stone as the wind changed direction. (c) Stephen Goodlad
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In the corner of the garden stands a stone plinth supporting a stone bowl. The birds like to gather to wash; a shared oasis, common territory in the summer heat; they flutter and preen. My cat waits unseen in the shadows and pounces the moment they are in their element.
(c) Stephen Goodlad |
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