Sagepaper

Prose Introduction:

Uncle Jim was a Great Uncle by marriage. We had met, but never gotten really acquainted. I wasn't especially close to my Great Aunt Jessie, either. I paid my respects when I was in town, but we didn't discuss the meaning of life.

All that changed one Christmas vacation. Uncle Jim ended up in the
hospital. The only family they had for support were my octogenarian
grandparents. Aunt Jessie started to lose it when my husband and I stopped by the hospital to say goodbye before flying back home.

I sat next to her and asked her if she wanted me to stay. She did. I thought that was a good thing all the way around. The situation was too stressful for my grandparents to handle alone, and they weren't very good at it, anyway.

Uncle Jim had metastatic lung cancer when I first started getting acquainted with Aunt Jessie and him. We developed a close bond, discovering each other for the first time, and mourning the wasted years when we might have enjoyed each other. Uncle Jim challenged my heart. I opted for the "better to have loved and lost" argument. I wasn't obligated to draw closer to him. In fact, in the face of his imminent death, I really had to push myself sometimes.

I got close to Aunt Jessie, too. They moved to Georgia while Uncle Jim was on hospice. He was one tough old Cherokee. As we agreed, Aunt Jessie moved in with me after his death.

So, here's the poem:

I'm shocked you're gone; what can I say?
We had plans for another day
I prattle idly, fleeing my pain
And now at night my eyes just rain
I walked with you for just a time
You touched me with your heart so kind
I feared to love you but couldn't stop
I warned my heart -- I'm such a sop
Kindred strangers, we'd never known...
How quickly our love had grown.
With my pen I pray for healing
Though, perhaps, I should be kneeling
I feel the pain down deep beneath
The constant thoughts that are your wreath
My mind moves all around its hole
But to the center it will not go
Strange how "Nothing" has wounded me
Your absence is what hurts, you see
You bade me tend the wife you left
That she'd not be alone bereft
I swore to you I'd see her through
You said you thought my love would do
But when you left, my heart you broke
Of this, you see, we never spoke

The above poem is mine, you see, all MINE. As of when I wrote it, or when you try to steal it, whichever comes first. It's not legaleze, but feel free to view this as a copyright notice. Oh, yeah. Same goes for the rest of my writings.