red and black…
Tap your brakes and slow.
Listen close to the way we
stutter of the last taboo, our
words a textured pang:
Pat didn’t even know her kids there at the end/
Raymond never made it out to the coast, huh?/
Jess went to sleep and just never woke up/
Cheryl’s in a much, much better place now/
Daddy was always sure he’d go first/
I guess when its your time, its your time/
by god, only thirty-eight and never sick a day.
Death is an old crow’s brazen waltz around
the carcass on the shoulder, his beak red with
yesterday.
I hope I understand your message, imagery beautiful as always…my father died of cancer in less than a month’s time…healthy to dead. i wrote an entire article on grief and how we respond to death, based in part by the comments people made hoping to be helpful…comments that offered little comfort and put them in jeopardy had a fork been within my arm’s reach. Things you mentioned above like “he’s in a better place,” “it was his time,” “God must have needed him more.” All true, but lets be honest, death and our separation from those we love until we meet again sucks no matter how you coat it. Even Jesus (who came to vanquish death) did not welcome it. If I’ve missed your meaning, carry on, just my 2 cents!
Leah, you’re on target…death has visited us this week, not head-on but friends of friends type stuff, people we knew…death is a thief, I hate it, no discussion…I do always try and listen close to how we talk about/around it…I believe it scares us silly, even the most faithful…thanks for courageously commenting.
John, I am sorry that you’ve been visited by death, and to Patricia below, I am grateful to hear you survived head above water in you sea of grief (at times I felt swallowed entirely, head engulfed). I want to acknowlwdge, give oxygen to the reality that you’ve encounter “the crow.” One of the things that bothered me most Patricia mentioned- we’ve come to a place in our culture where other people our uncomfortable by our grief should we dare speak of it, and so we don’t. I try to listen too, not offer pat comfort but be willing to give ear to, be witness to, grief. I wanted to tell someone how awful to was to see my dad suffer, be in so much pain, be taken so jarringly fast. No one seemed comfortable with anything other than an “I’m fine” after “how are you?” Everyone is different,some may not want to talk about it, but I hope to I can make a grieving person feel safe doing so if they choose to. Part of that I’ve found entails getting down in the mud with someone, not to heap sorrow on sorrow, but to bear one another’s burdens. Some of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received were the tears of dear friends who grieved along with me.
Yes, tap your brakes slow…. this is painfully true, the way we respond in discomfort… rushing in with words… even though everyone’s intentions are good.
After 4 deaths in my family over 3 years, I too have been left reeling. It was surreal and I am thankful now to see how God allowed my big toe to touch on the rock of his presence and strength just enough so my nose stayed above water … in that sea of overwhelming grief. I understand the intent of scripture when the question is asked “where, o death, is thy sting,” …. but truly, I know that the sting is right here on earth… the brazen crow’s beak red with yesterday.
Thank God for the hope we have in Christ.
John… Man, these are beautiful words. Well, well crafted. Thanks for taking up words in hard places… for the rest of us.