A Tough Anniversary

This past Thanksgiving week was a tough anniversary for me as it was the 10th anniversary of both of my parents' deaths. They died 7-1/2 days apart in November, 2006, bracketing Thanksgiving that year. I was a bit surprised at the fact that it was harder this year than it has been for some years, possibly because it was the 10th anniversary. On the one hand, it felt as if the time had gone quickly, but it hit me about how long we have been without our parents, as well as how much longer we have left in our lives without them. 

So, I've been feeling a bit wobbly. 

At the time I wrote some poems to help me deal with my emotions. These are the poems I wrote:


Death Came

Death came
and it took
and
then
it took again.

It came
as a friend
to those it
took, but
I have yet
to embrace it.

©2016 Kathryn Samuelson


A question for My Parents

It was January, 1954

when my grandpa died.

I had just turned three

a week, maybe two

when my grandpa died.

You were on your way

back to the Navy

when they reached you,

almost about to climb

the steps to the plane –

I think. How did they reach

you in time at a time

without cell phones or

the internet?

It was 1967

when my grandpa died.

I was sixteen, and I

remember my MorMor’s

grief as well as her

managing to live fully

without him.

I was just old enough to

start to really know him

when he died. Now he is

a disembodied voice

preaching a sermon on

an old recording.

It was 1973 when

my grandmother died.

I was at summer school

taking Art History and

some other things, was

told to stay there – not to

come to the funeral. All

these years later it still

feels not quite right

even though she was

difficult to be around,

hypochondriacal – “notice

my arthritis”, a cry I

suppose to “notice me,

notice me.”

It was 1977 when

my MorMor died,

having laid herself

neatly on the floor. We

think she might have

been dizzy (a stroke?)

and laid down.

Ninety three almost, and

still living quite well

on her own,

surprising me once

when I saw her on the

bench outside the

courthouse waiting

for the bus.

I can still see the film

with my MorMor

in the piece on the

Senior Center in my head,

see her working the

room, still the Preacher’s

Wife, just the way you

worked the room years

later after church or at the

senior place.

How did you manage all

those years without them?

©2016 Kathryn Samuelson

And, if you can stand one more, this was written 3-1/2 years later. As you can see from this poem, as many people know well, grief comes and goes. Sometimes faint, sometimes strong. I will spare you the other poem that I wrote at the time right after their deaths. It seems even too much form to post it here with the others.

Grief Again

Reading the

poem about

their deaths.

The grief came

rolling back,

sweeping away

any feeling of

being

anchored.

Rootless

Again.

©2016 Kathryn Samuelson