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When I came home from my brother-in-law's funeral I could feel the heaviness of grief traveling with me. The shirt I bought to wear to Sean's funeral, the pencils I used to draw a memorial picture for my sister, the outfit I wore as we set up the hall - they all seemed to be coated with sadness. I pictured grief spilling out of my suitcase as I tried to unpack my clothes, ingraining itself in the corners of my life. Like glitter, grief has proven that it is difficult to get rid of and has strong sticking power. It sneaks up at odd moments and catches me by surprise. It's now was over three years since I wrote this poem and I'm still finding bits of black glitter attached to my clothing and wedged in my heart.
Black glitter
The macabre glitter appeared suddenly and without warning
changing the world in an instant.
It stuck to our skin and left traces everywhere we went:
on the dining table and recliner chairs,
the king-size bed with its memory-foam mattress,
the photo frames and frozen smiling faces.
Soon a dark film coated the whole house
catching in our throats,
chocking our conversations,
leaving us breathless and gasping for air.
Denial was the easiest solution:
vacuum it up;
ignore the grains that stubbornly cling to the floorboards
and hide between the maroon cushions;
watch movies and imitate normality.
Then more visitors arrived
bringing solemn reminders
in the shape of flowers,
shedding fresh mounds of glitter on the floor
as they reached for their cups of tea.
In the end we had to acknowledge the unimaginable:
a precious life had ended,
the one we love is no longer with us.
Nothing we do will change this terrible fact
or fill the remaining void.
Endless rivers of tears could only ever wash away
a fraction of our glittery grief.
Traces of it will always remain
embedded in our lives
and forever in our hearts.
In loving memory of Sean Harman
16/10/74 – 30/03/18
Photo by Desiray Green on Unsplash
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