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This Poem was Submitted By: Karen Ragan On Date: 2004-05-18 14:24:31 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Remembering

Quietly I slip into the room staring at the still silent figure hearing only one heartbeat shadows shift and change Silence so final I hear its echo Peace mingles with coldness Numb pain rises in my throat I cringe and slightly shiver Life reached its climax in the cool morning mist slipping away without notice death slithered quickly past unwelcome faceless void sucking essence of all human personality spitting only the shell of existence in memory of its hungry wake emptiness stripping frail form fears tumble in the darkness whispering of mortality leaving heavy questions reminding me of his pain, of my own pain pulsing rapidly through my heart as I gaze at his rigid face My fingers lightly trace wrinkles of his forehead last gesture of caring after weeks of waiting hoping for a miracle seeing such fear unmask behind those failing eyes remembering I had given comfort, some strength a prayer to soothe stormy moments when faith failed as cancer crawled within Steel stretcher rolls slowly out Finality of separation haunts leaving all who cared behind to wonder, remembering Hope he is not lost forever remains Faith fights the dark curse, hearing my trembling whisper to deaf ears "you've finally made it, grandpa"

Additional Notes:
This piece is not easy to share, but I want to. Taking care of a cancer patient in my home (with the wonderful help of hospice) was one of the hardest things I have ever done. My feelings and emotions are not easily voiced, and this is the first thing I've been able to write about the event of grandpa's death. He was really my father-in-law, but I always called him grandpa. I purposely left out most punctuation. This felt right for this piece.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Sherri L Smith On Date: 2004-05-31 21:48:42
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Dear Karen, This piece struck me forcibly today as it is my Mom's birthday and and I took care of her while she was dying of cancer. She was not able to be at home, but I was there faithfully to the end, from the first of October to the 23rd of January. It is so hard to watch a loved one die. Ii am going to visit my Dad in California, who has been given just a few months to live. In a very selfish way, I am glad that I won't be close enough to see him at the end. Does that sound selfish to you? I am sorry. I love him, and don't want to see him suffer. I have only known him for 14 years. Will go to visit on 16th of June, we will have a Father's Day celebration and it will be the first time ever that both his daughters will be together to celebrate that special day with him. Sherri

This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Morales On Date: 2004-05-27 01:04:11
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Karen, I reply to your poetry from time to time because you were one of the first members of this site to reply to mine almost 5 years ago, but this poem hit close to home. I would like to share three poems with you written by a wonderful writer named Judith McPheron, who died from cancer in 1981. Late Blooms Pomegranate blossoms, flaming, not seemingly contained by natural boundaries cross my mind, but they do not illuminate it. It is a foggy day, my mind will not clear enough to permit thought or color to enter and I have recently learned that I will die. A branch of flowers so delicate only defines itself through slow movement, connections to the other branches, the white stucco house it poses in front of. Cancer V Twelve fingers, I counted twelve fingers this morning. I grow extras by means of wit or whimsy and sometimes love extravagance. Petunias need watering and tending to grow and automobiles need spare parts just to stay the same but I elaborate on an unknown formula for something like spontaneous combustion. I wonder if piano players would envy me; I watch as extra things appear like scum on a winter’s sea. They multiply without a backward glance at the tables. There should be a more comfortable spot for will here, and precision; for the sensible rhythm of note following note. What I see and hear makes me bow my head and echo, simply, there is not. Spirit Song This flute I’m playing wakes the insects, who are sleeping at my feet. The plants in the fields cry all night long for their cousins. Even the dew is anxious. What sounds in the dark is not some gently mewing. It settles, small and wet, in the folds of our clothes. There are ladders in the air, and circles. What creature isn’t listening, moving? I tell you, I will not leave you, though I sing as you die. I heard this in a song: pass it on. Best, Mark

This Poem was Critiqued By: Irene E Fraley On Date: 2004-05-19 15:55:28
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
I think this is extremely well written. The imagery is clear, the emotions conveyed powerfully. The poem moves forward smoothly, but not so headlong that the reader cannot pause and savor the lines. I would suggest that considering the subject of the poem, perhaps "lasts" would work better in line one of the final stanza. Now, on a personal level, my sympathies to you and yours. Losses such as these are so wrenching. I'm glad that your faith is with you. Take care, Rene

This Poem was Critiqued By: G. Donald Cribbs On Date: 2004-05-19 09:18:31
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.85000
Karen, I enjoyed this poem even more than the last one. I think this one is truer to your writer's voice as a poet. I really like the style, how you used the words and the layout and the "emptiness" of having no punctuation to say so many things in layers with this poem is incredibly well done. Writing about death is a tough topic to speak on. For so many it's overdone, it's all been said before, but you have found a fresh way to say many things about the struggle with faith, with knowing what is and is not beyond, for suffering of a loved one going through such a tough death, and for you to process and accept it as well. A marvelous piece of work, with this one. Thank you for sharing it with us. I have a similar poem posted about my mother in law, called, "The Death of A Poet." I'd welcome your comments on that one. We seem to have a shared thought this month in that regard. Here's some feedback on this poem: Quietly I slip into the room staring at the still silent figure hearing only one heartbeat shadows shift and change The 's' sounds throughout thsi first stanza suggest the "shhh" of silence in the somber and stillness of the room, almost a holiness with "slip/staring/still/silent/shadows/shift". Well done! With "hearing only one heartbeat, you question whether it's yours or your "grandpa's..." Nice tension with that. "Shadows shift and change" provide a sense of forboding, finality, that the end has come or is coming very soon. Silence so final I hear its echo Peace mingles with coldness Numb pain rises in my throat I cringe and slightly shiver Here, you transition between the 's' sound to a similar silibant sound of 'c's which illustrate the clench of the throat when one is overwhelmed by emotions and their throat is caught in tears, weeping, and anguish. A great job with "echo/coldness/cringe" and the surrounding "silence/so/its/mingles/coldness/rises/slightly/ shiver". This works very well. Life reached its climax in the cool morning mist slipping away without notice death slithered quickly past I love "death slithered quickly past." Such a beautifully written line. You pack this stanza with weight just in that line alone. unwelcome faceless void sucking essence of all human personality spitting only the shell of existence in memory of its hungry wake The devourer, death has come. You deliver a vivid image here beginning with the word, "sucking." That begins the sound and feel of a body losing its soul and the idea of the "shell" being spit back out in its wake is so powerful. Wow. emptiness stripping frail form fears tumble in the darkness whispering of mortality leaving heavy questions Your use of enjambment here with "frail form/fears tumble" adds well to the piece. Fear forms or the frail form fears...nicely done. Yes, most certainly heavy questions. This is a nice leap into the rest of the poem where you grapple with the spirituality and faith issues. reminding me of his pain, of my own pain pulsing rapidly through my heart as I gaze at his rigid face Nice tie-in to the first stanza's lone heartbeat. This sinks it in that yours was the only one still beating, that his time had come when you entered the room. My fingers lightly trace wrinkles of his forehead last gesture of caring after weeks of waiting With only his shell remaining, facing death like a horrible mirror transfixed, one must find a way to connect with the individual. A tenderly written picture of tracing the wrinkles in his forehead. A gesture full of weight and purpose. hoping for a miracle seeing such fear unmask behind those failing eyes remembering I had given comfort, some strength a prayer to soothe stormy moments when faith failed as cancer crawled within This section is what sells the piece for me. How death has come and gone, and you are left naked and empty here to grapple with faith, with God himself (like Jacob), yet trying to keep your hip from coming out of its socket. Your answer is significant. To look upon the role you played, that you had done some good, that you were able to guide him in words and gestures. Even with the force of cancer ravaging his body. The emptiness is tangible, yet profound. You say this so well. Steel stretcher rolls slowly out Finality of separation haunts leaving all who cared behind to wonder, remembering Hope he is not lost forever remains Faith fights the dark curse, hearing my trembling whisper to deaf ears "you've finally made it, grandpa" I love how you illustrate the numbed shock one feels when faced with death. "leaving all who cared behind/to wonder.." Nice enjambment, again. You finish with faith. A great way to bring it full circle and offer a lovely tribute to a man so dear to you. Thank you for sharing this with us. Warm regards, Don

This Poem was Critiqued By: Sandra J Kelley On Date: 2004-05-18 20:46:53
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.40000
Well, Karen, I am sorry you had to go through something like that. You made the right decisions with this poem though. Not using a lot of punctuation leaves the poem more open and lets the experiences flow into each other. I like how you layer the silence throughout the poem. First the sound of a single heartbeat, then silence than whispers then deaf ears-all of these qualities of sound and silence are so vividly real. They are a part of the universal experience of death and waiting. This poem is so well done I can feel this moment with you the waiting, the loss, the almost but not quite relief that it is over-but at the same time that is the moment when the grief really starts. Nice job with this poem. Sandra

This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2004-05-18 15:14:40
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.85714
Karen: My deepest sympathies on the loss of your father-in-law, who was "grandpa" to you. May sharing this very personal journey bring peace and healing. Please know that many (including this reader) will draw strength from your words, will remember those whom they have lost with added tenderness. All of us must walk this path at sometime in life; it is the fortunate who are able to give voice to it, who are able to do the extremely hard work of accompanying those who are dying to the last moments. How ironic it seems that some of the most exquisitely beautiful and moving poetry in the English language stems from such terrible suffering and deep loss as this. But, in my view, this poem joins with others of piercing depth, of deepest compassion and understanding, to enlarge the literature of loss for all of those who must follow in the ways you have trod. My heart is full with so many different feelings - remembrance of the recent death of my father, and that of my mother. Because you were with him, your grandpa (your husband's father) did not die alone in a hospital or nursing home, but with one beside him who compassionately nurtured him in the deepest ways possible. You were "with" him, this poem shows us, not merely 'taking care of' him. This is shown by the absence of his heartbeat, as shown in L3 of S1. It reminds me of the blending which takes place during pregnancy, in which there is the heartbeat of the unborn babe, and the mother's. In this poem, all seems reverse, as you nurtured him for his journey, not into this world, but into that which lies beyond the gates of death. Quietly I slip into the room staring at the still silent figure hearing only one heartbeat shadows shift and change A parallel thought, for me, was that as quietly as his soul slipped from his body, you slipped into the room, to see once more the now "silent figure" lying there. Your ears were still 'listening' as those of us who have kept vigil for or cared for the dying know - they will be listening for some time to come. It is very like the awareness a young mother has of her infant - hearing the least of sounds, ready to meet the needs of the loved one, even in sleep (so often interrupted). Silence so final I hear its echo Peace mingles with coldness Numb pain rises in my throat I cringe and slightly shiver As always your ability to evoke emotion through poetry is powerful and immediately. The assonant i's, for example, in S1, L1, 2 and 4, as well as S2, L1, 2, 3 and 4, are an example of fine crafting, seamlessly done so that the reader remains aware only of your subject, free to focus on emotions, the imagery and intensity of this work. Life reached its climax in the cool morning mist slipping away without notice death slithered quickly past The sensory impression of coolness or coldness is present throughout; "coldness/numb/cool/mist/shiver/steel" as the impersonality and finality of death penetrate the speaker's and the reader's awareness. unwelcome faceless void sucking essence of all human personality spitting only the shell of existence in memory of its hungry wake That death "slithered" evokes a sense of the serpent, vampire-like, a "faceless void" which sucks the "essence" of human personality away. Death is portrayed as emptiness, the absence of life, with malign intent. It isn't impersonal, you show us, when one we love is gone and we are faced with "only the shell of existence." emptiness stripping frail form fears tumble in the darkness whispering of mortality leaving heavy questions The part that strikes me so strongly in this stanza above is that where our loved one goes, we cannot follow. Our fears are naturally stirred, because though we may have faith, our normal human reaction is to see what is before us! And we are reminded of our own mortality, realizing that one day, someone will stand with us, looking on. reminding me of his pain, of my own pain pulsing rapidly through my heart as I gaze at his rigid face Though he is now free from his pain, the speaker looks on with pain still pulsing through her tender heart. The word "rapidly" suggests that the reality of his death is just now sinking in, that in caring for him, a certain amount of reality had to be denied. In order to treat him as the living being he was and to convey all of the love and hope the speaker held for him, these thoughts, as given in the poem, had to be set aside and dealt with later. I can see my own father's face, shortly after his death, devoid of the person I knew him to be. It seemed so strange to look at 'him' and yet realize that he was no longer part of the body which could no longer sustain his life. It is a great shock, and takes much time to absorb. My fingers lightly trace wrinkles of his forehead last gesture of caring after weeks of waiting This stanza is especially poignant, as it is clearly infused with a mixture of sorrow and relief. Relief that he is no longer suffering, sorrow that he will not return, that the speaker can do nothing else for him. And yet, the sense that she (you) pray for him, love him still, and share him with us here gives grace to us as readers and, I hope, to you in your mourning. hoping for a miracle seeing such fear unmask --It is terrifying to see the fear of the dying! behind those failing eyes remembering I had given comfort, some strength a prayer to soothe stormy moments when faith failed as cancer crawled within These two stanzas are so clearly distilled essence of your "weeks of waiting" that it is impossible to read them without weeping. That you were with him in his hours of fear and pain was the greatest gift a human being can extend to another, in my view. Steel stretcher rolls slowly out Finality of separation haunts leaving all who cared behind to wonder, remembering You touch upon the most important realizations following the death of a loved one -- the hardest, I think -- "finality of separation" - at least in the sense of the person as we knew them. If there is hope of reconciliation in heaven, it isn't taken for granted: Hope he is not lost forever remains Faith fights the dark curse, hearing my trembling whisper to deaf ears "you've finally made it, grandpa" One of the hardest poems to read, probably the finest you've written as far as I am aware. The final stanza's first line "Hope he is not lost forever" really resonated for me, as so many of those I loved who have died did not profess a personal faith in God. My belief in God's mercy sustains me as I hope it does you. The last line makes it impossible for me to see, so must close. With love, Joanne

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