singing the blues
We lost my dear favorite Auntie Louise yesterday. I am fighting sadness by thinking of her sitting somewhere with my Dad, drinking a beer and talking about the good 'ole days.
I found comfort again in these words, which my Auntie wrote to me after I lost my Dad, ironic that I find them again and they are about how I move on without her:
"People say 'keep a stiff upper lip,' try talking like that! My greatest prayer and hope for all of you is that you will continue to live! Live life to the fullest! You don't have to dig a hole and pull it in after you. Do something amazing for yourself, with your life and or with someone!"
And loss always makes me think of this poem:
"Funeral Blues"
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 forever: 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 woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
W.H. Auden
I found comfort again in these words, which my Auntie wrote to me after I lost my Dad, ironic that I find them again and they are about how I move on without her:
"People say 'keep a stiff upper lip,' try talking like that! My greatest prayer and hope for all of you is that you will continue to live! Live life to the fullest! You don't have to dig a hole and pull it in after you. Do something amazing for yourself, with your life and or with someone!"
And loss always makes me think of this poem:
"Funeral Blues"
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 forever: 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 woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
W.H. Auden
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