I Never Knew Him....But.....

We had dinner the other night with a nice couple who live in an apartment on the second floor. Pat and I are on a committee exploring the idea of displaying changing art shows in one hallway here at Eastcastle. She's a very well-educated and much more "sophisticated" woman than I am....but we seem to enjoy each other's company.

At dinner she was talking about her daughter, coming for a visit from the east coast. She too sounds like a very capable and educated woman involved, with her husband, in the NYC theater world. Somehow the conversation included sharing the fact that Pat's grandson, her daughter's son, committed suicide when he was 16. Although this was years ago.... sharing the information brought the pain right back as Pat described the unfathomable grief that came with the loss of this very special young man. And her daughter's methods of trying to cope with the empty chair at their table.

Pat told me her daughter had spent some time after writing poetry and that this seemed to help a little. This morning I found a small blue book outside my door, the note inside said "You can keep this." 

A mere 32 pages with about a dozen poems, I sat with my coffee, opened the cover and began to read. I'm not a poetry lover but these, or maybe because I knew the reason they were composed, hit hard. The imagery was so sadly beautiful....and I was glad to have the Kleenex box next to my chair. For her to share her grief in this way was just so heartrending.  One stanza of one poem was especially heartbreaking:

I used to have a son who didn't wear jeans

Only khakis and never clothing with a logo.

He liked clever T-shirts in a philosophical

Vein and white socks and Merrill shoes.

He liked the secondhand belt

I bought him at Housing Works.

It was what he used to end his life.

We have four grandsons....I will hug each of them a little harder next time we are together.