The death of a child is every parent's nightmare. The way a mother or father deals with such a tragedy is individual.
Melissa was a beautiful, luminous pre-school teacher. Her wedding beside a lake was like a Renoir painting; a boat floated to the water's edge and her groom carried her onto the grass for the celebration.
Six months later, Melissa lay in a hospital bed hooked up to tubes. The bulimia that she had hidden so successfully may have played a role in her cardiac arrest and she soon died at the age of 31.
Her father, Ira, directed his grief into volunteering at a homeless shelter and at a hospice. Her mother, Marti, a retired English teacher, began writing poetry about her grief and about her daughter's life and death.
"At first, I wrote in a journal and I wrote letters to Melissa," says Marti. "But then, a half-year after Melissa's death, I began to write poetry. I hadn't written any poetry since college, but the poems started spilling out of me. Putting them down on paper helped me to feel a little better."
Writing poems gave Marti a way "not to tamp down or run away from feelings."
Marti says, "I jumped in and rolled around, which I think was a good thing. It made my loss so much less scary. When a terrible thought came I would write about it. I would get it down and then see what I could make of it, what I could learn from feeling my grief completely."
Now, six years later, Marti says she does sometimes push her sad thoughts away. "I still write occasionally, but not with the same urgency."
Marti wanted to share her poems. "I had always been lacking in self-confidence about sharing my writing. A number of people responded so positively that it encouraged me to write more and share more. It seemed to confirm the value of the poems, not to say that was so crucial."
Below is a poem Marti wrote about the death of a child, about Melissa's wedding.
Wedding Reception
She arrived - Cleopatra-like - by barge
On "the most beautiful day in history"
(The Weather Man said, and we agreed.)
They appeared around a curve in the shoreline - the glare
Of the sun made it hard to see at first -
Standing in the front (can you call it a prow?)
Watching for their wedding guests, she wore
His jacket and his arm around her waist; her hair
And gown lifted slightly in the lightest
Breeze while we waited on the beach.
He swooped her up and lifted her ashore;
Her spiky sandals dangled from one hand,
His jacket briefly from the other, as she danced
Barefoot across the sand, then into
All those arms impatient with the wait.
They led her to the tents, the food, the flowers,
And the music; they talked and toasted, laughed
And ate and danced until at five
They disappeared, taking for themselves
A restful hour or so. If she had died, not slept,
That evening, we'd have known, as we do now,
That just one day of such elation, such warm
Impatient love and generosity, can
Suffice to mark a life well lived and loved.
Still, we cannot breathe to think she left so soon.
See my bio for links to my posts about death of a husband, healthy recipes, sex in midlife and more as well as to my blog, Confessions of a Worrywart.
See also:
*A Woman Talks About Sex From Her 20's To Her 60's (fascinating and relatable)
*Are You Having Less Sex Than You Think You Should? One Woman's Story
*Joyce Maynard Adopted Two Girls From Ethiopia Then Gave Them Up
*Family Vacation With My Ex & Daughters
*He Asked, "Am I Going To Die?" I Had To Tell Him, "Yes You Are."
*Make A Hospital Room More Homey Than Home
*Divorce, Downsizing, Dating & Death: One Woman's Story
