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 |    We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life. |
To live without her has been hard these eight months or so. I lose the words, not a wise old bard. We had to let her go. Survive we do, but not with joy at the thoughts of her great loss. Such energy to play with her toy, or chase the ball I'd toss. She was my only friend some nights when work was finally through. This Christmas midnight really bites. Thick silence floats so new. I look upon the shelf to see a box marked with her name, and cry, that she's no more with me, and wonder if there's blame. The doctor made her go so soft, and took away the pain. Now, something beautiful is lost, and my heart is filled with rain. "'Tis better to have loved and lost," quoth Tennyson of old, "than never to have loved at all." This statement's oh so bold. I'm sure that's true, but still my days are filled with silent hours, no barks of love, all glad displays of one, who knew she's ours. I cannot find my Christmas joy, the one I often knew when Bruhni was alive with us, before her life was through. I know this grief is good heart work, but work it is so hard. This poetry is my best balm, laid thick, like cooking lard. Merry Christmas, Dear Sweet Bruhn! You're in my heart, today. I pray, that when I'm with The Son restored with you's okay. by Jay O’Toole on December 18th, 2024     |
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