My dear friend, Laura, wrote this beautiful poem a few years ago. She has included it in her book, available for purchase here. I have been reflecting on it all morning long and thought I would share it.
No Name for This
by Laura Fabrycky
We give name to our particular griefs,
but there is one that we do not even name.
Each grief is a precious pain,
yet we leave one in shadow.
an orphan awakens to a parentless horizon.
A widow, sleepily reaches for her mate,
and finds an empty pillow.
A widower stares into
the pews at church and sees
pairs, like ducklings, and he is now
a lone drake.
But we have no name for this:
the mother from who death has
snatched her child;
an empty lap.
The father who leans at the doorway
watching the hospice care of his dying son;
parents who stare at headstones that bear
years short and early,
who wonder why they not only bear the joyous life,
but now must tend the memory flame-
no name for this.