© September 1, 2008 by Norman Stolpe
“I’m going now,” my Dad whispered,
aware we had all assembled.
No patriarchal death vigil –
he’s still teaching by example.
My wife listened to her mother’s
faltering and uneven breaths.
Briefest break trying to be there –
final privacy without fear.
Grief tears
burn and sting,
cleanse and soothe.
Tearless grief
numbs and protects
probes and anchors.
Modulating into minor
refines the core
where pain and joy
fuse into hope.
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