The cemetery view

I live by an old cemetery with a few sandstones amongst the trees, and some new marble ones at the back.

For a long time, I have been afraid that I or my child may be swallowed in our morbid days by this sight, by our fear of death.

But fear of death is only fear of the unknown and fear of change, it is no evil but what we make.

These graves are Death Happened, but also Lives Lived!

How many were short, or lain not to be regretted?

The stones, the words, the few flowers say: however long they were there, here lay people who mattered.

It shines in the darkness, by the shadow of the sun in the trees, by the light of the moon on the grass:

Death is a life lived to the end. These graves are lives loved.

graveyard_MattWharton
“Beautiful graveyard shot” by Matt Wharton, flickr
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The little things

A poem I wrote this week. Thanks for reading!

 

The little things

Fall in love and live merrily, until

the bells ring and you sing

on the most beautiful day of your life!

A book’s ending, it is the beginning.

You hope, and days add on.

 

You move, and you choose

a house for your budget, a present for each muppet,

year, after year, after year,

while they grow old far away from where you are.

You wait, and days add on.

 

A wonder, a miracle!

A new life enters yours in tears and joy,

as they start dying of old age

and others divide their lives’ worth.

You live, and days add on.

 

You fight to agree over main and silly.

Compromise” is a word with a new meaning and

lovers’ love” loses its standing

in those busy days filled with laughs and fear.

You age, and days add on.

 

They eat at your soul those days.

Little by little, they feed on hope

leaving fatigue in their wake.

Dreams slowly vanish, sorrow becomes childish.

And yet… Yet!

You try, and days add on.

 

Source: Costel Slincu, flickr
Source: Costel Slincu, flickr

To my husband

Two short poems that I wrote some time ago thinking of my husband. I know they’re not the best but even after a few years since I wrote them they still ring true 🙂

Pieces

You cannot see what I look for

Sometimes in life, in words, and more,

And I agree, I do not cook,

Instead I know, Ill read a book!

 

So how can we be together

A pair for life like no other?

Though it is true, maybe were not,

Maybe a pair, but for life not?

 

Did I discard, along our way,

Pieces of me so holes may stay?

Or was I lost without knowing,

Before you came, with bits missing?

 

The holes were filled while time went by,

Their shapes still hold, their borders cry,

Seeing you fade, or go, or die,

Visions of grief in my mind’s eye;

 

And there I know this simple truth:

You cannot go and leave me loose;

For thered not be, these pieces gone,

Enough of me to carry on.

 

Home

He keeps life light for me,

A bit less cynical,

A bit less dark,

And slightly more hopeful

That my life is special;

 

Him gone, all is empty;

Frozen, stunned by longing,

Crying, I ache

For a time with meaning,

All is reminding me;

 

Try to sleep, honeybee,

I am here in your cells,

And will be back

To confirm your struggles,

The choices made for me.”

 

Go to bed” he tells me

On the phone, but alone,

Wait to awake,

Not bleeding and not torn,

And the bed not empty.

 

Wait for Home to find me,

And objects their value,

Estranged, they bark,

We are halves, we need two!

We are halves, just like you!

Tea for two, source: John, flickr
Tea for two, source: John, flickr

Holiday packing of a home – Therapeutic writing

There are many ways in which I changed since the arrival of our Duck, and it appears that I keep being surprised whenever I stumble upon one of them, new or only unnoticed before.

I changed as a person, as a wife, as a daughter, as a daughter-in-law, as a professional (I stopped working, basically, at least for now), and added a new aspect to the list of what makes “me” 🙂

And tonight I just found another way in which I changed since I became a mum. It relates to travelling. I have always enjoyed travelling, maybe not so much the packing – though it never stressed me out much – but the departure from the house, the arrival at the station or at the airport, and then… the adventure. Even if it meant being “only” 2 hours away by train or one hour away by plane. Elsewhere. For a few days, or a few weeks.

I have been packing for the last three days because we are leaving for a few days of holidays: wedding, birthday, and husband’s work all mixed up, it will be full. We will see the grandparents, uncles, ants, cousins and all! Some of them will even meet our Duck for the first time, and the youngest ones are really excited 😉

List ready, laundry done, suitcases and bags almost finished, only last minute things to add, and I’m done. It’s crazy the amount of things you need to travel with a little one. Lots of toys, nappies (the space it takes!), creams, books, ready foods and his spoons, his towel, his clothes for all weather, swimming nappies, the pram, the baby carrier, paracetamol, thermometer, and various medicines, just in case… Plus whatever we need for ourselves for the wedding party and our everyday needs.

It was when I was packing, and checking what I’d packed for the tenth time, that it hit me – even though it’s not the first time we travel with him – how sad and stressed I am and have been for the last few days, because of the packing. And thinking back, I realize that it happens every time we go away, even for a few days. Why do I feel this way? How could I explain?

This is our home, the place he knows most and to which we always come back to, wherever we spent the day. These are his toys, the ones we bought, the ones he received, and all the toys he made out of our appliances (switching on and off the lights is great fun, as is emptying the washing machine :p) or furniture (emptying the CD cupboard is also great fun! Playing with the curtains, climbing the couch or our bed…). Where he eats everyday. His routine to go to sleep. The music he listens to, and the place where he likes to sit on our knees when we read him a book….

How can I explain to him that we won’t sleep here tomorrow night, nor the following nights? That we won’t be able to have our perfect sleep routine or to read a book before the nap, sitting in our spot, on the floor?

Will he have stopped doing that particular face, or this particular game he plays with the furniture, when we come back? Will he have forgotten these games – maybe not in a few days?

Which toys should I take? The cardboard tower, the cars, the puzzle? Will he notice and miss the ones he won’t have? Should we leave the funny blocks, in case we lose one there?

Which books should we pack? How many can we take?

I would like to take them all. Just in case he would play with that toy, even for 10 minutes. Because it is part of our home since he was born, the home we made, not just the walls, but the objects and the routines, and the memories we make everyday. And it breaks my heart a little to leave it behind, even for a short while – though how will I react if one day we move house, leaving the walls and the switches?

But all these are only objects. Replaceable. The memories are there, with us, and we will make new ones. What matters is him, him with us, us three together. To make new games and new routines, to kiss and hug and love each other. Maybe that is what really scares me, deep down, and why I hang on to his toys, not losing the objects or the place, but losing him, losing us, somewhere, sometime. But not today. Please. Not this week. Not ever.