The 4th Quarter: A bit of melancholic poetry

holding hands Photo by Anna Tarazevich on

I suppose at a certain point, if we’re still here, we begin to experience loss, and maybe even begin to think about who’s next.

Mom’s cousin, Wanda, is in hospice. She’s 97. A good and long life, Wanda dolls herself up a bit and takes her oxygen off when visitors arrive. Wanda and Mom grew up next door to each other; maybe more like sisters than cousin. Mom has already lost her husband, her parents, and her two brothers. Her sister, 14 years her junior is in poor health. That’s not to mention many other family members and friends.

Of course, Mom will be 95 next month. It goes without saying that she’s experienced a lot of loss. I’m nearly positive that does not make it easier.

I came across Carole Bromley’s poem this morning. A beautiful expression for the one left behind.

Winding The Clocks By Carole Bromley

Winding The Clocks By Carole Bromley Each night you do the rounds, like a lover who keeps faith after the loved one’s gone; I guess it’s at the root …

Winding The Clocks By Carole Bromley

Please follow the link and read Carole’s entire poem. My grandfather made several grandfather clocks. Mom has one. So do I. I’m sure that’s one of the reasons this poem plucks my heartstrings.