Poembook.

in the light of loss

and continuity of love.

Michael and Molly, 1996.

memorial site: www.oocities.org/trpelivost

                I knew at some point I’d have to write it down and cast this love, this loss, out to the world as a prayer of hope and understanding.  Even though Michael died the way he did, in some ways it feels we’ve deepened our relationship and in a strange way, his leaving , a gift of immeasurable love, eternal love.

              It is a continual challenge, even after almost seven years, to live in the light of the miracles Michael has shown me.  Sometimes I feel like I’ve been through a thousand tunnels and vortexes, channel to pain and rebirth, light, horrible sadness, and a love that survives mortality.  If it is possible to be simultaneously distraught and joyful, I dance the two well.  For in this pain has also come, and I admit this carefully, a lot of insight and joy that spans beyond this place we so finitely call our home. 

Where one starts on the journey in the aftermath of suicide is unbeknownst to many, yet each year over ten thousand people decide to leave this world, and their loved ones, behind.  That means for every single person, at least another ten are affected, deeply.   To count the numbers of wounded is about as likely as pinning down the night sky’s stars, one by one.  

                Countless lives are left without a support network as we live in a society that is crazed in its youthful frenzy of botox and rebuttal of elders.  So when someone we love dearly decides to take their own life, the death becomes sheathed in stigma and further isolation for those grieving.

                This story is one of deep, deep love; one of shortness and yet eternity, one of truth and deep pain.  This is a story of two people falling sincerely and deeply into love, finding solace in one anothers’ presence and eyes, and the trials of coming together in the midst of depression and acute loss. 

                In many ways, this story transcends into a deepfelt rhythm of love that will continue on, even as we breathe, and then as I, too, find leave under the night sky.  I will forever hold Michael David Williams in the highest and most depthful of love, for his eyes resonate the mirror of my soul, and his love, although brief in the scheme of this earthly life, has changed me forever, beyond the rocks of time.

the call came two and a half weeks after his death.  I will never know why this happened the way it did nor why families react to such tragedy in such horrible ways, but this I cannot change.  The phone line in Prague was connected to my mothers voice in Boise, Idaho.  “Mike Williams is dead”.   I thought he’d been in an accident. 

The shock railed me into the rage compounded with tears, unbelievable tears and shock, and I kicked in the apartment I was staying at.  I destroyed half the kitchen, kicking, screaming, delusional, crazed.  How could they keep this from me?  How could they be so unkind, so abusive upon such loss?  I couldn’t believe he was gone…..I couldn’t believe he was gone.

[poem: "33"]

[poem: "shepherd"]

The visits started coming almost immediately, during the early morning of the next day……the light panel switch clicked on, on its own….I was awakened and simultaneously heard Michaels voice say “are you with me baby?”. 

In the almost seven years since the news came, I’ve almost died myself, and in many ways—have—metaphorically and otherwise.