It is hard to accept how much mental illness has taken from my family, but I know many others have experienced greater hardships than I have, so I can't wallow in self pity. Still, I am rocked by my grief. I am trying desperately to forget the shocking way my father died, and concentrate on my loss, and love for him.
Emily Dickinson was one of my father's favorite poets;
After great pain, a formal feeling comes --
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs --
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?
The Feet, mechanical, go round --
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought --
A Wooden way
A Quartz contentment, like a stone --
This is the Hour of Lead --
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow --
First -- Chill -- then Stupor -- then the letting go --