Bathed in Quilted Sorrow

Quilted Sorrow

She bathes in quilted sorrow
Each square a memory made
And tight she holds, her fears unfold
for patches soon may fade.

She bathes in quilted sorrow
A shield, the quilt remains
The patches sewn, no more to grow,
The album filled with pain.

She bathes in quilted sorrow
But fingers loosen grip
Caressing fabric, weave and shape
Despair begins to slip

She bathes in quilted sorrow,
The thread holds tight her faith
These tiny scraps of love and loss
will not her future make.

She bathes in quilted sorrow,
The blanket on the bed,
The room preserved, for not yet time,
to move past loss and death.

She bathes in quilted sorrow,
Tho’ less and less each day,
The sun, a patch of yellow,
The blue, a patch of rain.

She bathes in quilted sorrow,
Tho’ less and less each year.
The quilt receives companions
New memories appear.

She bathes in quilted sorrow,
but with shy and tender smile.
As the giggling child in pirate print
Flashed before her eyes.

She bathed in quilted sorrow,
Welcomed cleansing tears
And day to day she made her way
Til months rolled into years.

Bathe in quilted sorrow,
She tells her grieving friend,
The patches hold your memories
while painfully you mend.

Once bathed in quilted sorrow,
the patchwork now her guide
she traces tales of motherhood
her words keep him alive.

I bathed in quilted sorrow
having heard her words today.
A life has formed between my ears
and in my heart he’ll stay.


SWPoet
1-22-14






Poem inspired by:

This is the one year anniversary (this month, at least) of the sudden and accidental death of the 18 yo son of a college friend of my husbands (whom I know as well, but not ...as well as my husband). I wonder now, how she is doing and how one can slowly climb out of that sort of grief, enough to not feel guilty catching oneself in a moment of joy or laughter. We have two sons of our own, equal distance between as her two sons, though both of ours 5-6 yrs younger than theirs. For parents, every decision to allow them to do something mildly dangerous (crossing the street,
first ski trip, riding on four wheelers, getting behind the wheel of a car, etc), the question -I think- will continue to come to mind.
If we let them go do these things, can we live with ourselves IF something bad happens, but if we shield them-shelter them-smother them under a blanket of our own fears-what equal or more harm will we do to them? We cannot wrap them in bubble wrap for we will cut off the air they breathe.
Still, we let them out of our sight each day with little control over their lives while they are away from our reach.

I often hear "I can't imagine going through the loss of a child." But that is just it-we can imagine it, do imagine sometimes, and it scares us to death. But that won't kill us, really, tho we may wish it would in the darkest days of grieving?

As for the title and repeat, the phrase popped up in another poem I wrote the other day and when I repeated it in my head, the face of that son our friend lost and the friend herself came to my mind. The picture of him she created almost a year ago while sharing with us stories of parenthood, trying to keep him alive in her words. While he was the "ring bear" in our wedding at age 4, what came between-those 14 years in the middle, I cannot honestly say-they live 6 hours away and we rarely saw them. But he will always be present in spirit, in mind, in heart, and when the fog and sorrow lifts, the sharing of his life can bring hope to others that one can eventually lay the blanket down and make new patches, new memories, and live life -returning to that patchwork quilt (real or proverbial) at times to kindle the fire (and shed some mighty tears) and nurture the memories.

To KH, you and your family are remembered this day. Thank you for sharing your son with us.

SWPoet