losing history
Our beloved R passed away this morning, just 4 mos. shy of her 100th birthday.
I heard the news from my roomie Rugby Girl and have felt so melancholy since. I am not sad for R. I am glad that she is finally going to be able to rest. I feel a loss for our Community, since she has been part of it for over 80 years, but really my sadness is selfish.
It is funny how the death of someone can take us back into the pain and sadness of the death of another. I am always surprised at how my Dad's death (just over 2 year ago) can still evoke such anguish for me. I lay here in front of our fireplace missing my Dad, and thinking about all the things we miss out on without him being here.
And I think too of our feisty R and what Community will look like without her. Death is a funny thing.
I turn again to this, a favorite poem, I've used on my blog before. It really speas to something so sincere in my mind.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
~W.H. Auden (1907-1973)
I heard the news from my roomie Rugby Girl and have felt so melancholy since. I am not sad for R. I am glad that she is finally going to be able to rest. I feel a loss for our Community, since she has been part of it for over 80 years, but really my sadness is selfish.
It is funny how the death of someone can take us back into the pain and sadness of the death of another. I am always surprised at how my Dad's death (just over 2 year ago) can still evoke such anguish for me. I lay here in front of our fireplace missing my Dad, and thinking about all the things we miss out on without him being here.
And I think too of our feisty R and what Community will look like without her. Death is a funny thing.
I turn again to this, a favorite poem, I've used on my blog before. It really speas to something so sincere in my mind.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
~W.H. Auden (1907-1973)
Comments