Cynthia Jobin, over at littleoldladywho.net, is one of the finest poets I’ve read. Her poems are exquisitely crafted, evocative, and at times wonderfully mischievous.
A recent poem of Cynthia’s – The Palpable Obscure – is a spine-tingling evocation of the ongoing mystification endured by those of us who have experienced the death of a loved one. In it, she writes:
“Once a day, at least, I stop to wonder
where you are.”
Is this puzzlement not at the very heart of the Human Condition?
If my father were alive today, the 27th November 2015, he would be 83. I started this blog mainly as a response to the lingering grief I felt about his dying. And this poem, which I first posted on the 27th November 2010, is about the day he died.
Like Cynthia, I still wonder…
Eternal Mysteries ( a repost)
With the ring back on your finger
you sighed and slipped away
but forever it’s a mystery
where you went that day
Did you see them watching you
and whispering in your ear?
When you took your final journey,
did you know that they were there?
Did you sense that we were not?
No-one can ever know,
yet child-like we still ask ourselves –
that day, where did you go?
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beeblu blog 
A questions which continues to make us all wonder…peace be with you.
And with you, Charles.
Thank you for the pingback beeblu.
The veil is especially thin on these holidays, isn’t it? My dad died the day after Thanksgiving, back in 1996 and he is always very much here when this holiday arrives….here, and yet…
Your poem is lovely in its clear and poignant questioning of the mystery.
Thanks, Cynthia. A mystery that is somehow also comforting.
Cynthia said it so well in her comment – your poem is a poignant longing for an answer that will never come until that one day when it will be our turn too.
And I don’t think our turn is something to be feared, somehow…
Thanks, Joanne.
Since we don’t “know,” we are free to envision whatever gives us the most peace. Sometimes, I picture my dad peering over my shoulder as I type. “Hi Dad!”
🙂
🙂
Exactly. When I’m doing something practical in the most impractical way (which is often), I imagine my Dad remonstrating, “Oh, for goodness sake, child, let me show you how!”, and it makes me smile.
Celebrations and anniversaries always make me stop and think “oh, you’re not here”. It’s a lovely poem about your Dad, BB.
I think about all my dearly departeds when I’m hanging up the washing. 😀
Thanks, MOSY.
Both poignant poems – I started my blog for similar reasons to you bb 🙂 being creative with emotions is to be highly recommended I believe, and has been very important for me. Maybe your father’s molecules are reassembling in an alternative universe – anything is possible.
I’m immensely glad to have shared at least some of your blogging journey, Gabe. It’s something I treasure. 😀
And, yes, anything is possible, which makes it all the more interesting. 😀
This is one of my favorite poems, Blubee. When I read it, I knew I had found someone special.
Thank you, Monica. And me, you. Hugs. xxx
Lovely. Thank you, too.