Me and My Imaginary Friends

The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone else when you're uncool.

Monday, August 20, 2007

1 week and 2 days

I know it has only been a week and I know that this poem was written from a wife to her lost husband, but I can't get it out of my head. (Substitute the "him"s for "her"s.)

"Time Does Not Bring Relief"
Edna St. Vincent Millay

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go - so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quieter place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, "There is no memory of him here!"
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.


It's those last four lines that haunt me. How can I make new friends or meet new people when I can't introduce them to my mother? Can anyone ever really know me if they've never met her? I don't think so.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

It was that very thing that made me hurt the most for my cousins when my uncle died. And for myself as well. It is incomprehensible to me sometimes that Robert never met my Uncle Ron! How could that be when he is such a huge part of the best of my childhood memories?

2:13 PM  

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