Lost and Left Behind

The Oxford Book of Death

By D.J. Enright

“Dark house, by which once more I stand

Here in the unlovely street,

Doors, where my heart was used to beat

So quickly, waiting for a hand,

A hand that can be clasp’d no more—

Behold me, for I cannot sleep,

And like a guilty thing I creep

At earliest morning to the door.

He is not here; but far away

The noise of life begins again,

And ghastly thro’ the drizzling rain

On the bald street breaks the blank day

~Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-92) (105) (as cited in Enright).

               When a person you care for passed from life and you are left behind, the night can be a terrible place. Activities have slowed down so memories from the past have an easier time fighting to the brink of conscious thought. Also memories that were created at night can be more vivid because there are fewer elements, such as noise, light, crowds etc, to blur them. Thus, night can be one of the most painful times for one who is in mourning. The shadows rule that time, and not just the shadows of light and dark, but the shadows of the past which found a temporary canvass upon which to project themselves; the canvass being the time when there are the fewest elements to take away from their full power. The depth of this poem achieves great lengths in portraying the pain that is experienced by those left behind, and truly captures the essence of the mourning period. 

I am by no means finished posting what I would like to tonight, however, I it necessary to pause my fingers until the morrow as tonight I will be celebrating a birth. See you in the sun. 

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