So many people I know have experienced loss in the last couple weeks. I lost my dad. A good friend lost her sister. Tonight, another friend lost his mother-in-law. I am tired of death.
Tonight, I have no words of comfort that will work, because I know that nothing I say will take away any of the pain that accompanies the loss of a someone you love.
Instead, I offer this poem by Billy Collins. It's about death, but it's also about life. It's about my dad. My friend's sister. My other friend's mother-in-law.
Saint Marty can hear his father's voice in this poem . . .
by: Billy Collins
Just because I'm dead now doesn't mean
I don't exist anymore.
All those eulogies and the obituary
in the corner of the newspaper
have made me feel more vibrant than ever.
I'm here in some fashion,
maybe like a gust of wind
that disturbs the upper leaves,
or blows a hat around a corner,
or disperses a little cloud of mayflies over a stream.
What I like best about this
is you realizing you can no longer
get away with things the way your used to
when it would be ten o'clock at night
and I wouldn't know where you were.
I'm all ears, you liked to say
whenever you couldn't bother listening.
And now you know that I'm all eyes,
looking in every direction,
and a special eye is always trained on you.