Book of Tears - Hello Poetry

Feb 2017

SE Reimer

(a lamentation for Maria)

~

call me Mara,
no more Maria;
nothing but a hole
where ‘i’ once was,
for life has dealt my heart
a raw and bitter hand.
do not come too close;
weep with me,
but from a distance...
my losses could rub off
for this may be endemic;
a cause any other,
too hard to understand.
i do not know how i will cope,
how i can bear this burden.
just love me not,
too closely, please,
for the thought
of one more loss
is more than i
could bear to see.

my sons were two
and for any more
i would have never asked;
yet they have left
and now my joy,
my future dreams,
my happy hopes,
wind in my sails
has all but now
been dashed.
love...
i thought i knew it,
but now it seems
that all i love
is stripped away from me.
weep with me,
but not too distant...
my losses won’t rub off
this contagious only seems.
just love me not,
too closely, please,
for the thought
of one more loss
is more than i
could bear to see.

call me Mara,
call me bitter,
share my sorrow,
hear my never-ending sobs.
if any hope remains
i pray you hold it close,
hang tightly to your dreams;
my hope is gone,
replaced by sour herbs,
libations poured
have all been changed,
a tinge of myrrh it now contains;
reduced to tears
my song is lost,
except this sad refrain.
weep with me,
hold me tightly...
my heartache won’t rub off
i cannot bear to cry alone.
just love me not,
too closely, please,
for the thought
of one more loss
is more than i
could bear to see.

post script.

some events shake us to the core, even though they may not be our own.

Ruth 1:20 “Don’t call me Naomi,” she told them. “Call me Mara, because the Almighty has made my life very bitter. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mara_(name)

i am grateful to know the rest of Naomi’s story; to know her bitter drink was ultimately mingled with some sweetness; to know that beyond her own lifetime she became a part of the silver thread that led to a nation’s redemption... but i cannot accept, that even for a moment of her remaining life, the hole left by her many losses was ever filled completely. some wounds even time can never really heal; these we only learn to cope with, soothing the pain, finding ways to medicate the suffering they cause.

myrrh. http://www.itmonline.org/arts/myrrh.htm

Feb 2017

SE Reimer

turning pages

~

as pages turn
his memory greets her...
the filtered light
of saddened beauty,
yet, without would be
but crushing darkness,
his footsteps welcome,
an entrance crossing
lightly o’er the
threshold of her mind;
his visits she could
not bear to miss.
and though it wets
her cheeks with weeping,
though it fills
her pail of tears
from sorrow’s ever
deepening abyss,
this, her rose of hope
its beauty precious
its fragrance borne
on petals crushed.
each page she turns
his memory greets her
with each his visit
she prolongs;
and moments sweet
she dare not rush;
dispels her darkness
when nights are long.

~

*post script.

he visits on pages that fill her life...

the photo albums,
the turning calendar,
books that bear his footnotes...
cards and letters beginning with the words, “Dear Mom...”

ever so slowly, she is learning to welcome,
even find comfort, in his visits
among the pages.

Feb 2017

SE Reimer

autumn-colored memory

these golden days
with cool, crisp air
finds me dreaming
of days more fair
when our golden boy
raked golden leaves
your work now ceased
you rest in sleep

i looked out today
on an autumn-colored lawn
but you’re not there
they say you’ve gone
where once you stood
on grass so green
now lies a stone
you rest beneath

the seasons change
while I cannot
for without goodbyes
my heart’s in knots
my fall is passing
my eyes still weep
my winter dead ahead
while you rest in peace

*rest, my sweet son
rest in peace

today the sun came out for a few late afternoon hours to highlight the autumn colors collecting on our green front grass. seeing it, i grabbed my camera to snap a photo and while doing so was instantly taken back to a similar fall day four long years ago, our Daniel’s last Fall, when he enthusiastically raked these vibrant colors of orange, red, gold, brown and rust, into mounds of beauty cascading across the yard. we memorialized the moment that day with a cherished photo of he in his wool stocking cap, rake in hand amidst a sea of color.

like color contrasts create turbulent beauty, so life when contrasted with loss shows the beauty that was, making the ache all the more poignant.
i miss you... terribly, Son!

Feb 2017

SE Reimer

His Waters Still

Beside His still waters,
He leads me I'm told,
From mountains of triumph,
To valleys below.

Yet each river I walk,
Cool waters so sweet,
Flows to an ocean,
Churning and deep.

It's mouth opens wide,
Like a traitorous friend,
Emotions poured out,
It feels like the end.

Fresh swallowed by salty,
As in life so endured;
Anguish consuming,
Joy flooded by tears.

Yet through my distress,
In lesson replete, for
There’s growth at the mingling,
Of bitter and sweet.

His sunshine and rain,
My weakness unseats.
His springtime and harvest,
His plan He completes.

And its here that I realize,
There’s no end to His will;
For whether ocean or river,
They are His waters, still.

~

post script.

written in a very dark period of our lives, while still reeling from the loss of a son, this simple muse was not in itself an answer, but rather a small piece of a much larger truth, one a guy named Job came to realize eons before i... simply stated, i do not hold the keys, nor is it even mine to claim i should be able to understand the ways of my creator.

Feb 2017

SE Reimer

Remembered

Today as we tended,
Our garden of tears,
I considered so many,
Forgotten by years.
Ashes to ashes,
And dust to dust;
What more is left,
After moth and rust,
Have taken their toll,
On this fragile frame.
Does their memory live on?
Or just their name?
Etched into stone,
On a hillside of green,
Pushed aside by the living,
Generations between.
When flowers no longer
Are laid at their grave,
And visits made only
To a name on a page.
And all they accomplished,
Left to cynics and critics,
Does life really matter?
Or how it is finished?
Yes! Each matters to God,
Though forgotten by man;
Each remembered by He,
Who laid out earth’s plan.
And purpose fulfilled,
For which we were born,
Passes death’s veil,
A crown to adorn.
In that day we'll know,
Then His plan will be clear,
When sinners called saints,
To their home He draws near.

~

post script.

(this note added Memorial Day, 2015)

as we paid tribute again today, i was reminded of this write from several years back. my son is laid to rest near an older section of the cemetery and on days like these when many pay tribute, the line between markers laid over 50 years previous that bear no flowers and those laid more recently and are adorned lavishly, is a stark reminder of how long after we are gone our descendants will remember us. it is easy to look at this with cynicism... and then i remember , its not my memory that really counts anyway... a most comforting thought in an otherwise dark moment.

Feb 2017

SE Reimer

Grateful

forever changed by your life,

grateful...

i was your father

missing you, son (10w)

Feb 2017

SE Reimer

Child Loss

the anti-club with
lifetime membership;
dues paid daily...
in tears

to Maria, Connie, my wife and all those of you who unwillingly "joined" the anti-club of child loss... i wish comfort and peace to you today. (10w)

Feb 2017

SE Reimer

Calendar of Tears

Days turn to weeks,
and months into years;
Our calendar filled,
With days that bring tears.

No longer with cheer,
There’s a birthday we keep;
A life sown in hardship,
Is now reaping grief.

His anniversary of leaving,
A dark smear on that day;
Its nothing to celebrate,
But it won't wash away.

Those days that we’re honored,
As his mother and father;
Special cards that he made us,
We receive them no longer.

A day for memorials,
Then picnics and parades,
The summer he loved,
A special hike on Labor Day.

The season to give thanks,
Forces us to remember,
All the years that we did have,
All those happy Novembers.

Finally Christmas comes round,
Full of time spent together;
All our family traditions,
Where he's missed more than ever.

Each day a reminder,
Every memory so dear,
Yet silence speaks loudly,
When laughter disappears.

Then it's time to repeat,
Time to turn a new page,
Time for new resolutions,
Time to hope for some change.

Maybe this is the year,
That the calendar’s our friend,
When peace is returned,
And we look forward again.

Post script.

this was written in late December 2012, just a year ago as part of my struggle to come to terms with life’s curves. i post this tonight, not so much for me, though my struggle is hardly over... this is more for a dear soul; an HP friend who like me, is still struggling with loss. some days are just harder than others; then there are whole seasons that will never again be the same. tonight, i raise a glass of Merlot for her, not in toast, but in wishing her comfort, peace and rest!

Feb 2017

SE Reimer

I Can't Leave

"We can't stay here"
he says...
as tears trickle slowly
down her face.
Unable to hold them back,
she can only nod,
all the while thinking...
"I can't leave;
leaving feels
too much like
forgetting."

Post script.

last evening's conversation with my wife...
she asks no pity,
but almost five years later she grieves...
deeply... daily...
a dearest son who never said goodbye...
the melancholy of the season
gripping her in its anguished, icy hold.

Feb 2017

SE Reimer

i grieve with you

today i learned of a dear, dear HP friend's devestating loss of her second child. is there no boundary to the grief meted out? are we not given so much and then told, " no more...". I would previously have said, yes of course, yet today, I can only wish this were the case.*

i choose to grieve with you
i choose to walk beside you.
we walk this journey together, you and i,
distant by earth’s miles, but not by the heart’s;
each knowing the other, less by the lines of our faces
and more through the footprints we leave on the pathway,
the pools of wisdom we leave beside it
for others to step into, enjoying its coolness,
soaking deeply in its cleansing,
allowing it to wash away the dust, the soil,
the tears of the journey.
here, now and until you need them no longer
i offer you mine.
lift the cup high, over your head and
let them run, splashing all the way to the ground…
let them wash your dusty, weary feet.

i choose to care for you.
those words spoken casually by some,
but intently from one whose compassion
becomes a torrent in seasons as this,
from one who has known the heart break of loss,
sent swiftly to you,
rushing down to a parched valley…
not in voluminous, drowning torrent,
but in rivulets of refreshing all around you;
ointment to apply to your wounds.
let this be salve to your loss-torn soul.

i choose to share with you.
graces, extended to me from others who saw the pain,
the burden, the travail of my journey,
these graces becoming mine to pass on.
words sent in comfort;
arms to wrap ‘round, hold and strengthen;
wisdom to bind up a broken heart…
grieving with you,
my tears i blend with yours
as together we weep.
please, drink these graces,
every drop of peace, hope and comfort…
let these revive your longing heart.

i choose to encourage you.
drink deeply from my well for the journey ahead.
draw from the graces of others all around you.
store it, hold it, let it revive and energize.
draw from the wisdom of the Ancient of Days,
for she lives…
she speaks to all who will hear, who will listen.
let her restore your tired mind.

all of this…
this is what i mean when i say today,
“i grieve with you”

post script:

written first for Rick, but sent now to Maria, who's grief knows no bounds.  when words fail me, i can offer only tears and my love.

“blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”  matt 5:4

until we suffered the devastating loss of our 25 year old son, i did not know how to grieve.  he would now be 30 years old.  today i know so much more, though i still have so much more to learn.

a civilized society is not defined by its shiny achievements nor by its soaring, technological advances, but by the way it treats its most vulnerable souls.

Feb 2017

SE Reimer

sweet goodbye

~

when your final day approached
did we know it when it came?
were we given time enough,
to trace the lines of your face,
before you faded fast as dusk?
will the final words we spoke,
the familiar sounds of your voice,
echo ever in our hearts as the
fading whispers of your sweet goodbye,
becoming etched indelibly,
in the pages of our memory?
yes...
your final day arrived,
but no...
we didn’t know it when it came
no trumpet blew, no drum was beat
no final hug, no goodbye kiss
just empty silence, only this
makes us ponder all we missed

we pray the hint of the forest,
that always lingered on your clothes,
will ever be reminders of your
yearning heart for nature’s wonder
and as we walk among the swaying pines,
beside the waters still you sought
we hope you’ll linger in the sunlight,
in lengthening shadows of the hills,
where you laid your weary head,
as we scramble to the heights you loved,
we’ll listen for your voice of bravery,
in the thunder of the waterfall.
we’ll see the outline of your footsteps,
imprinted always on the carpet,
of the room you’ve left behind,
all of these we’ll look for, reach for
in the home we’ve built for you inside.

~

*post script.

verse 1 looks back, as we must do for instruction on how best to look forward.
verse 2 takes its instruction from the pages of his life,
considers how he lived, his motto, his life creed...
“travel light, enjoy the journey!”
how we must choose to continue, chose to live.

we only wish we had understood his suffering better. the deep losses of others hammers home our own, losses from which we think we are recovering... and then this.

inspired by this note from my beautiful wife several weeks ago:
“I have this daily Bible verse app on my phone, it has not been turned on to notify me for months, but today, march 25- i woke up to this one. Last day i saw my sweet Daniel’s face. :'-( “

Isaiah 26:4 Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord God is an everlasting rock.

Feb 2017

SE Reimer

presence from heaven

~

an arrival obscure
white package austere
makes its debut with the daily post;
an advent surreal
no ordinary mail
this addressed to his last known abode.

how could they have know
he’d moved up in this world
to a parcel up high on a hill;
where the air is more clean
the grass there grows green
adorned with granite and daffodil.

“Overdraft Settlement” it read
“a few years overdue,” i said!
softly weeping, his mother’s response.
over-burdened, and under a cloud
fervent prayers she utters aloud
yet nothing but silence from that “beyond.”

no settlement, no check can ever replace
the comfort she seeks in seeing his face,
what she would trade for one last goodbye;
each daybreak one closer to final sunset
she searches for answers she doubts she will get,
yet each morning she rises with a hope of reply.

but maybe, it is just this...
a “reply” as good as it gets;
these messages showing that he’s not forgotten.
though perhaps meager the payment,
like a gift of heaven-scent,
each a reminder, his presence from heaven.

~ postscript ~

party to a class action for exorbitant overdraft fees, a settlement check arrived this week with his name on it. it is five long years since we laid him to rest, yet it is reminders like this that can leave us short of breath and stir up every imaginable emotion we have felt in this loss. but, if we still our hearts and quiet our minds we can see hope, like a sliver of sun ray breaking through a ceiling of dark clouds, shining down from heaven to give us a reminder of him… his presence from heaven.

(kind of like my new cover page photo)

Feb 2017

SE Reimer

mid winter's mourn

~

beside a warm fire on a late winter's morn,
with the help of three midwives their baby was born.
wrapping him gently to shield from morn's frost,
hearing his first breaths while holding him close.
singing a lullaby, they rock him to sleep;
cradled in their arms, they watch him dream.

twenty five winters; good years, though some long,
as a man was being forged in their little boy.
in many ways wise, encourager and friend,
the tenderest heart, persevering to the end.
through illness, through setbacks, he always believed;
and opening their arms they watch him dream.

beside a warm fire on a late winter's morn,
alone with the angels their son was re-born.
closing his eyes as he lay down to dream,
his last breath watched lovingly, he drifted to sleep.
then carried so gently to a new home above,
to awake in the arms of the many he'd loved.

today by the fire on this mid-winter's morn,
they find themselves still letting go of their son.
surrounded by memories wherever they gaze,
this earth seems clouded, though they see through its haze.
they find themselves longing for their loved one above,
and dreaming of holding this son that they love.

~

post script.

written in January of 2011, two years after his goodbye. dusted off just a bit this morning with a few of its wrinkles ironed just for posting.

this time of winter, these cold, blustery days with blue skies overhead, it seems to bring the out melencholy. might be its time to head out to one of his favorite trails not too far from here... maybe we,'ll try the Columbia Gorge's Eagle Creek trail up to Punchbowl Falls... he loved it out there away from the city.

Steve