Jesus To A Child

Home alone in the tranquility of Ceannt Avenue on a cold, early January morning.  Spotify spontaneously throws up George Michael singing Jesus to a Child, a song that Maura loved. It’s immediately followed by Françoise Hardy with whom Maura is associated in our family. It's all about Maura. 

And going through an old diary from 20 years ago I came on this poem (below) that I wrote in stages following her death. 

Divine Providence brings all these things to my attention right now for some reason. Perhaps one person who needs it will stumble upon this post.

And though the thought of her still brings tears of love to my eyes,  I bear no sorrow for myself but pray for anyone struggling long with grief.

i

Some people are great

At telling you how

To grieve 

Or not

Not this long anyway 

Only the Swan

Of the damaged wing

And attentive eye

Would ever allow this

Length of time 

These years

But she allows it

This ageing grief

That will not

Let go completely 

For that would mean

Forgetting

And forgetting is not

Allowed

ii

It is easier now 

Less harrowing
Not even dramatic

But its approach
Brings a sudden
Change of mood

Tears prickling
The edge of my eye

Pent up breath
Shuddering in my breast

Memory of that day
The preceding days

Last deeds done
Final words spoken

Not knowing
They were last or final

Memory of that day
When word of death broke in
So suddenly to rob us

Summoning us from
Our varied normalities

Drawing us in
To its abnormal achievement

No consolation
Ever will avail
This side of heaven

And if there is a certain peace
It is the deep silence
Of God at Golgatha