This week has been a difficult one. My grandfather ended up in the hospital for a number of reasons giving all of us a very real fear of losing him. There’s nothing worse than watching someone you love suffer. Between the heartbreak and the sadness, there is the frustrating emotion of complete and total helplessness.
I’ll be the first to admit I don’t handle any of these emotions very well. I lock them inside until they consume me. My only release comes from writing. All the things I feel, yet cannot speak always find a way out through poetry or free writes. This is my therapy and I am grateful to know myself well enough to understand I need to keep a pen and journal with me whenever there’s a crisis.
After a particularly difficult visit with my grandfather, I went home and sat down with my thoughts and my journal. In the space of 5 minutes, the following poem came flooding out:
Breathing is hard,
sitting up, too
Since when did living,
cause so much grief?
There is no pain,
except in his head.
He wants to let go,
but no one will help.
The blanket slips,
his feet are cold.
His arms won’t move,
there is no strength
I ask what he needs,
he says nothing at all
We watch the rain fall,
and hear the wind howl
His will is gone,
he wants to go home
I watch the despair,
helpless in every way
The clock keeps ticking,
despite his pleas
There’s nowhere to go,
his feet are still cold
After I wrote the last word, it was like every fear and all the bits of sadness and anger were sucked out of me. All that remained was the hope that he would get better.
And get better, he did. He’s not out of the woods yet, but he’s fighting hard to get back home. His strength is slowly returning and he’s telling jokes again.
– – –
c.b.w. 2014
C.B. Wentworth 