Mum died. I stay busy, yes-yes I’m OK, OK, I’m fine. But Hamlet broods. Grief grows like ivy – delicate, lingering, and rooted in these three poems. On decline. On Decay. On the end of things.
love these dad. I’m not religious, but think (possibly?) the energy goes out of us and becomes something else. I find the idea of life as a cyclical process slightly comforting, though I don’t think we hang about in ghost form. It is hard and I think a lot about her illness and endurance. She is part of us and you. I’ll miss her ❤️
My sincere condolences Ian at this bewildering and sad time. There is a part of us that is never ready for our mothers to die, although we know they must, it shocks and changes so much. Your post and poems are touching and more beautifully crafted than the poem I wrote spontaneously when I sat in the same place you presently sit. I included it on the thankyou card I made to thank people for their support. I haven't thought of it for years, but thought I might share it now with a real poet.
Sleeping on my mother’s pillow
I lay my head down
Inhaling the essence of my mum.
Remembering the feeling of holding her hand,
I feel her hand still.
Clutching the down close to my heart,
I recall the bliss of my mother’s embrace,
I feel the warmth still.
Surrendering to rest at the end of day,
I speak to my mum,
And still she answers.
I wake with the night birds song,
And realise she is gone from this world,
With the light of her shrine still burning;
And for a moment my heart breaks,
As my tears leak silently onto her pillow.
I do not wash it
for it is my place to live with her,
to feel her around me,
her eternal love and the peace it brings.
Ashanti thinks she will come back for Christmas,
Shiran wonders when she will come back as a baby,
Krishan wants Nana to wait in heaven until we are all dead.
Sorry for your loss Ian. Your poems are really lovely. I recently read by the ‘knowledge sponge’ here on substack, and I find it somewhat comforting, that the average human cell holds 100 trillion atoms and there are a trillion cells in our body. During our lives atoms are constantly joining and leaving our bodies.
Atoms cannot be destroyed they just keep being recycled. When a person dies some atoms become part of other living things or objects and some go up to space. What a lovely thought.
And of course all the atoms came from stars in the first place. When I start to consider things that truly border on infinity, I can’t fit it into my head and it just becomes a star-like thing of wonder.
love these dad. I’m not religious, but think (possibly?) the energy goes out of us and becomes something else. I find the idea of life as a cyclical process slightly comforting, though I don’t think we hang about in ghost form. It is hard and I think a lot about her illness and endurance. She is part of us and you. I’ll miss her ❤️
My sincere condolences Ian at this bewildering and sad time. There is a part of us that is never ready for our mothers to die, although we know they must, it shocks and changes so much. Your post and poems are touching and more beautifully crafted than the poem I wrote spontaneously when I sat in the same place you presently sit. I included it on the thankyou card I made to thank people for their support. I haven't thought of it for years, but thought I might share it now with a real poet.
Sleeping on my mother’s pillow
I lay my head down
Inhaling the essence of my mum.
Remembering the feeling of holding her hand,
I feel her hand still.
Clutching the down close to my heart,
I recall the bliss of my mother’s embrace,
I feel the warmth still.
Surrendering to rest at the end of day,
I speak to my mum,
And still she answers.
I wake with the night birds song,
And realise she is gone from this world,
With the light of her shrine still burning;
And for a moment my heart breaks,
As my tears leak silently onto her pillow.
I do not wash it
for it is my place to live with her,
to feel her around me,
her eternal love and the peace it brings.
Ashanti thinks she will come back for Christmas,
Shiran wonders when she will come back as a baby,
Krishan wants Nana to wait in heaven until we are all dead.
Dad says these things happen, and sighs.
I just want to lay my head on my mother’s pillow
And live with her still.
Thank you Lisa. This poem is wonderful. Amazing that grief can power such beautiful thoughts.
Thank you Ian, I wish for you a slow quiet time for a while, to be with the loss of your mother from this world.
Sorry for your loss Ian. Your poems are really lovely. I recently read by the ‘knowledge sponge’ here on substack, and I find it somewhat comforting, that the average human cell holds 100 trillion atoms and there are a trillion cells in our body. During our lives atoms are constantly joining and leaving our bodies.
Atoms cannot be destroyed they just keep being recycled. When a person dies some atoms become part of other living things or objects and some go up to space. What a lovely thought.
And of course all the atoms came from stars in the first place. When I start to consider things that truly border on infinity, I can’t fit it into my head and it just becomes a star-like thing of wonder.
Carl Sagan: “we are all made of star-stuff”
Yes ! It’s fascinating isn’t it !
Really touched by your poems and commentary, Ian.