Dear Darling...

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Mon, 01 Sep 2014
  • 4880 reads
17 comments
 
Please excuse my writing;
I can’t stop my hands from shaking
‘cause I’m cold and alone tonight
Olly Murs
 
I didn’t think you’d leave...not that evening.
Not that soon. Couldn’t you have held on;
waited until I was there?
 
Why the haste? Why then? Why not 
the next afternoon?  I'd planned to be there
with it being New Year's Day.
 
It didn’t have to be that night to the backdrop
of fireworks in other people’s gardens,
in other people’s lives.
 
Why weren’t the champagne corks popping
where you were?  Why no Bollinger...
why no posh crystal glasses?
 
Why did water and a hospice plastic cup suffice?
Like those times, as a child, you’d cry out in the night...
either you, or she...
 
and I’d creep to your bedroom, sit on the edge
of your bed, reach through the darkness,
with the drink you were dying for,
or so you said.
 
At the end...why was it her hand you held?
Why your sister’s, not mine...and why,
am I asking you why...and not myself?
Certificate PG
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Spiritual
Love

Comments

Submitted by rjnewlyn on

Very moving - many thanks (doesn't sound like an easy one to write).

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks for reading, and for your empathy.

Tina

 

Submitted by Bee on

Hi Tina - this is a heartbreaking read. And a beautiful letter which affected deeply the first time I read what you put into it. It must still be a comfort that her hand was held. I don't think we can leave in the presence of the one we are closest to / love the most. It happens this way so often.

Bee

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

You are so right in what you say, Bee.  Her hand was held, and that is what matters most of all.  

Tina 

 

Submitted by lenchenelf on

..brings so many questions, and you capture the inevitable inquistion of self. 

Best wishes to you Tina

lena xxxxxxxxxxx

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

And mine to you, lena. smiley

Your thoughts, as ever, highly valued.

Tina xxxxxx

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

Painful and beautiful.

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Appreciated, Philip...more than.

Tina

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

Painful and beautiful.

Submitted by Ray Schaufeld on

You show the details, 'the plastic hospice' and the misery and the after-questions very clearly. Perhaps a mark of good writing is that it can make others reflect on their experience. You did that. I thought back to when my cousin died at the age of 40 giving birth to her fourth child. I hadn't seen her for several years as we lived a long distance apart and yet I had always liked her. Anne's embolism happened on December 27 and I asked myself if the hospital had been understaffed over the Christmas season. 

Good poem, Tina.

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

It must have been so painful, elsie, recalling the circumstances surrounding your sad loss. And those questions to remain unanswered, always a torment.

Many thanks for sharing.

Tina

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

I'm so glad you are able to write down your feelings in your poetry Tina, it must be such a comfort to you.  I agree with Elsie...this is a poem that many readers will relate to including myself.

Hope your Tuesday is being good to you and the sun is shining.

Take care,

Jenny.  smiley

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

When I hear from you, Jenny, the sun is shiningsmiley and as it so happens, it didn't need anyone's help today, not even yours. 

Spent the afternoon tidying up the garden for autumn, and picking some more blackberries.  It has been a bumper year, so I've made quite a lot of summer puddings, pies and crumbles, to my husband's delight.  

My best to you, Jenny, and thank you.

Tina

 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Wonderful piece, Tina. I know that feeling. Such an unpredictable thing. Hours, days of vigil and then just an empty bed (in my case anyway). Gently and achingly rendered. X

Parson Thru

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

X, a trillion, PT.

Tina

 

Submitted by Denzella on

Dear Tina,

But it was you who was always there with the drink she was dying for.  You who sat on the edge of her bed when she needed you and not just at the end but throughout her life.  Maybe when you are asleep she comes and sits on the end of your bed.  Quiet so as not to wake you before your time.

Another lovely tribute to a much loved daughter.

Moya

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Dear Moya, writing about her helps, so very much, and thank you for reading and for your words.

Tina