It is the work of the living
to grieve the dead.
It is our work to wake each day,
to live into the world that is.
It is our work to weep,
and it is our work to be healed.
Some part of us knows
not only the absence of our beloveds,
but also their presence,
how they continue to teach us,
how they invite us to grow.
It is our work to be softened by loss,
to be undone, destroyed, remade.
Wounded, we recoil,
and it is our work to notice how,
like crushed and trampled grass,
we spring back.
It is our work to meet death again
and again and again,
and though it aches to be open,
it is our work to be opened,
to live into the opening
until we know ourselves
as blossoms nourished from within
by the radiance of the ones
who are no longer physically here.
They have given us their love light to carry.
It is our work to be in service to that light.
from All the Honey (Samara Press, 2023)
italicized line is paraphrased from Wendy Videlock
Yesterday I sat with a newly widowed friend and she spoke of being softened by grief too. As I read this poem of yours, I could hear this poem read aloud in her voice.
yes, the softening. Love to your friend, love to you who sits with her, who has sat with me in a kitchen across the miles. thank you for your Laura Grace Weldon-ness.
Thank you, thank you, Rosemerry!
giant love to you, Betsy.
And so it goes for we the living.
I’m so grateful to be among the living with you
To be softened by loss, to be opened, words we all need to learn. Thank you for offering them so beautifully Rosemerry. xoxo
My dear friend Jack just shared an essay he wrote about learning that he could suffer–it’s a funny concept, and essential, to know and embrace that suffering is a part of what makes us human … and how it softens and opens us. Thank you so much for all the ways you come alongside in these poems, Janice–we don’t have to suffer alone! I am so grateful for you
Rosemerry, I’ve read this just now in my copy of All the Honey. And I put it down, and I picked it up again a few minutes later and read it a second time. This poem will be close to me, always. It has the luminous and arduous simplicity of the noblest scriptures. And it is true, deeply and palpably true. My soul is indebted to yours for giving this poem to your readers and to me. Wishing you peace, and bowing to your light.
Oh friend, thank you. Thank you for this kind note, thank you for letting me know this poem matters. Thank you for your blessings of peace–I wish you deep peace, too, Thomas, especially as you meet loss and open to the love inside it