Greta

Dear Rochel, Tears water our wounded hearts. Tears honor your beloved Bob. The small outrages of corporate coldness and larger rages inside ... what is felt must be expressed. There is no dishonor in any aspect of grief. Grief is a wild forest surrounded by rough water ... lonely and dangerous for the tenderhearted. This is my first post. I am so very, very angry at those who do not cry. I'm angry at those who do not mourn. I am shocked by our times ... hungry and homeless in America ... we've got to cry. Doctors give us drugs so we won't feel, won't cry. I'm so very grateful I found this site, where tears aren't viewed as mental instability, lack of coping, lack of character. We have a right to grieve. We have a need to grieve. Dirge Without Music I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground. So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind: Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned. Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you. Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust. A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew, A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost. The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,— They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve. More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world. Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave Gently they go, the beautiful , the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned. Edna St. Vincent Millay http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dirge-without-music/ II Time does not bring relief; you all have lied Who told me time would ease me of my pain! I miss him in the weeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from every mountain-side, And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane; But last year's bitter loving must remain Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide! There are a hundred places where I fear To go,--so with his memory they brim! And entering with relief some quiet place Where never fell his foot or shone his face I say, "There is no memory of him here!" And so stand stricken, so remembering him! Edna St. Vincent Millay, Renascence and Other Poems, Sonnets http://www.gutenberg.org/catalog/world/readfile?fk_files=784369&pageno=20 I have to believe our tears matter. So little of human emotion seems to matter in these times. I honor your tears. I respect them. Our tears are watering the heart of the world. Your picture is beautiful. It is right to ... in any moment ... to "stand stricken, so remembering him." Thank you for being here. Greta