Missing You
Poem (In Memorium)
Missing You
for Patrick William Doallas
(March 25, 1950 - May 9, 2009)
It was morning when you stopped
breathing, the call coming soon
after, a candle and your wedding
ring left at the foot of your bed
where you had lain in your last
hours. It was springtime. I thought
you'd make it. You did, for a year,
past the day you called to tell me
six weeks was all they gave you.
I acted brave for you, never once
tried to tell you to get another
opinion, ask about some new
treatment, find another doctor,
not to go yet. What you needed
then was not a talker, not a
mother, hovering, not another
one of your sisters unable to carry
your loss and her grief.
I'm seventy-three now;
you, forever past fifty-nine,
your body resting with
my poem and the photo
I tucked into the pocket of
the suit they dressed you in,
too hot for that late Florida day.
Grief is visceral, isn't it? So much in this poem moves me, especially the image of your poem and the photo placed in the pocket of his suit.
This is so beautiful, Maureen. The images, the movement of the poem—I feel like I’m right there.