It felt very strange reading status updates on facebook today. People mostly going on their merry way talking of spring break, inside jokes, funny things their kids said, work, sunshine, politics, movies, music, and so on. And I'm sitting here and thinking, "My friend died this week and I have nothing to say." Everything I say or think feels wrong...and everything that others say feels wrong. Not that it is at all. It's lifes plan unrolling like a scroll with permanent ink that states the cold hard truth..."Life goes on."
I can't help but think of one of my favorite poems, "Stop all the clocks." It describes my feelings perfectly. You want the world to stop...to pause...to be silent. But the world won't stop for you or the person you've lost. The gracious will pause and send a sentiment of sympathy but, the consistent lament of one girl is only heard by God in his heaven. There is no twinkle in the stars tonight and none in my eyes. I hear the small humming of a fan and that is all my ears will allow. I will stop for you, my friend. I will be perfectly still and reverent. I will breath in a memory of your love, kindness, bravery, and laughter. You're bright smile I will let stay in my mind until my tears stop and are forced closed from the fatigue of my sorrow. Even my lit candle dims itself as the sun did the day you left. For tonight my own clocks are stopped...but tomorrow they will begin to tick again...because "life goes on" and that's how you would want it to be.
Stop all the clocks
by W. H. Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.