My sorrow loves a clear blue sky
He strokes my face with a soft autumn breeze.
and I give myself the sacred right to mourn
not by forgetting and closing
but by remembering;
not by suppressing events or switching them off or
keeping them boxed,
but by calling them forth from the convoluted tangles of memory.
I remember the people and places I knew
And the games we played
And the love we shared.
The brown Buick racing into the eye of the storm,
The friends and family with whom I laughed and cried,
The soul-mate with whom I loved and created a legacy.
And I know
That I miss them all.
What frightens me is the possibility that we might lose the power to recall the life we lived
Which gives us our connection to our true selves
And allows us to remain in the quell
of the storm’s dreamy eye.
All rights reserved ©Deborah Garcia 2015