Grace and Grief

"Everywhere she dies. Everywhere I go she dies.
No sunrise, no city square, no lurking beautiful mountain
but has her death in it.
The silence of her dying sounds through
the carousel of language, it's a web
on which laughter stitches itself..."

from "Memorial" by Norman MacCaig


September lengthens like shadows in the falling light. The trees let go and abandon their leaves and memories of her last days haunt like ghosts... Her ragged breath and the dark hollows of her eyes. The way her hands shook as she tried to eat. The silence that stretched for hours.

Sat in a room full of people last night, I was asked to tell them a little about myself. I was tongue-tied as usual. We will be doing life together for the next two years, there will be no hiding. "What would you like us to know about you?" the tutor prompts. I play it safe and tell them about my marriage, my three children, the places I've lived and the work I've done. The story I didn't tell is the true one... Once upon a time there was a mother who had a daughter... I don't know how it ends.

Three years feels like a long time and yet no time at all. Tomorrow isn't promised. I wake in the dark this morning and watch the sky lighten, trying to find a balance between grace and grief. My littlest  one wakes too and finds me in the half-light. She slips her arms around my neck and I pull her close, my hope, my chance of a happy ending... Once upon a time there was a mother who had a daughter...