My Writing Keeps Me Focused

[Suetang]

This Sunday marks the fifth anniversary
of my father's death. It was through
my grief that I started writing.

* * *

My words help to build a bridge
To keep my grief at bay
I try to cast aside the images
From the day you passed away

It has now been five long years
But my heart still feels the pain
If I allow my mind to wander
My tears fall down like rain

My writing keeps me focused
It brings me much relief
I try hard to stay positive
It helps ward off the grief

'tho visits to your grave
Are now only few
Not a single day goes by
When I don't think of you

I miss your sense of humour
And your dignity and grace
Now the tears well in my eyes
And travel slowly down my face

Dad, I hope you would be proud
Of this person I've come to be
I've found strength within my writing
And my spirit has been set free

* * *

"We sat together for what
seemed like hours,
without saying a single word.
Our hearts were so finely tuned
to one another, that we
felt no need to speak"

[emily655321]

My sympathy for this hard time, Sue. You've found a wonderful way of dealing with your grief.

[Suetang]

Hi Emily

Thank you so much for your kind words which were so appreciated.

Take care.........Sue

[Bucky]

Sue,
I found this site when I Google-searched "faith solace in literature".
Your poem is good literature; may constructing it give you solace.
I am 68; and still mourn the deaths of my parents who died too young (less than 60). I like to think they know my feelings for I have many regrets for not communicating more lovingly while they were alive.

[Suetang]

Bucky

Thank you so much for your comforting words. My writing only began after my father died and he never got to read my words which saddens me but I feel I keep his memory alive when I write so that inspires me to keep going.

Take care.......Sue

[Parandol]

With weary steps I loiter on,
Tho’ always under alter’d skies
The purple from the distance dies,
My prospect and horizon gone.

No joy the blowing season gives,
The herald melodies of spring,
But in the songs I love to sing
A doubtful gleam of solace lives.

If any care for what is here
Survive in spirits render’d free,
Then are these songs I sing of thee
Not all ungrateful to thine ear.

-Alfred Lord Tennyson

[Aurora Ariel]

Hi There:),

Thankyou for posting your beautiful poem.I'm sure it must bring up sad and unfortunate memories but poetry can be a great comfort and a positive way of dealing with grief and suffering.By using a creative outlet,whether that be through writing,painting or playing an instrument, for expressing yourself you can do something which is productive and not self-destructive.It's very brave and admirable of you to deal with this grief in an artistic way.Good luck with your poetry!Best Wishes for the future!:)

[Parandol]

By Yang Hyun-young
I walked beneath the cherry blossoms trees today. I walked on the soft blossoms that were scattered on a hillside path by a gentle spring breeze. When I stopped and looked up, thousands of tiny petals were raining down on my face. Gently, I brushed them away but some still remained. I spread my arms in the cherry blossom rain and let the tiny petals fall softly on my upturned face and outstretched arms. Then, scattered by the breeze again, they were gone. Gone. Without resisting, without complaining. Nothing lasts forever.

Suddenly, I missed him. I missed him terribly. It’s been seven days since he left us. He passed away with without any resistance, without complaining. Just like the cherry blossoms.

I looked over my shoulder. I wanted someone to be here with me because I wanted to share this experience with someone. I wanted to celebrate and praise the beauty of the cherry blossoms before they too go away. I wanted to stand under the cherry blossom trees and say to someone, “It all kind of looks like heaven, doesn’t it?”

I never walked under the cherry blossoms with my father, never shared this beautiful experience with him. My parents divorced when I was very young and I hardly ever saw my father. Several times he asked to see me but I refused. I felt he had let us down. There was bitterness . . . At the funeral, his sister told me that a few days before he died he told her his last wish was to walk under the cherry blossoms with me. He died alone.

Today, with outstretched arms and face to the cherry blossom rain, I kept repeating, “I love you,” “I love you,” hoping Dad would hear me. Yes, I love you Dad. I love the cherry blossoms. I love the sky. I love everything. I realized that today. Why today? Why couldn’t I have realized this before it was too late? Now I don’t ever want to let things pass without saying, “I love you.” How many more years, even hours, will I be here on this earth with the people I love? Nothing lasts forever.

I thought I would never be able to walk under the cherry blossoms again after what I heard he said before he died. I would only be tormented by his memory, by guilt, grief and pain. But something compelled me today. Something led me to the cherry blossoms on this hillside path and I followed it.

I learned a valuable lesson today. Don’t waste time hating people or being bitter. If you are angry with someone, reach out before it is too late. Do it now. Don’t wait until tomorrow to forgive. Forgive today, because tomorrow might be too late. Nothing lasts forever. That’s what my father’s cherry blossom rain wanted to tell me.

The cherry blossom petals on my face are gone now. Gone. They were with me only for a moment. Maybe life is just a moment and we must live in that moment, the here and now.

Today the cherry blossoms rained down on me like tears. I must celebrate this beauty. I must sing this beauty. I must love. My whole being is filled with unbearable pain and grief right now. But somehow it is all the more beautiful because I have learned a very valuable lesson. Nothing lasts forever.

The writer wrote this in the spring of 2000 just after her father died. She was an undergraduate in the English department at Hankuk University of Foreign Studies at the time.