Somehow I knew Sunday Scribblings would allow me to enter into this subject.
Those who know me personally think I am an only child. But that’s not entirely true. My father was married for a brief time before I was in the picture and had a son. After he divorced, his ex did not let Terence, my half-brother, have any contact with my father. So I grew up without a sibling. And while I knew of him growing up, we didn’t meet until our early 20s.
Earlier this week, Terence passed away. I didn’t know him very well, probably hadn’t spoken to him in almost 15 years, so the loss, while tragic, does not bring a great sadness to my heart. It is what it is, I guess. Rather than going into a lot of details, here’s a poem I wrote for Terence.
No need to express your sympathies—I’m fine, and I appreciate it. If you’re stuck for something to say, just say, “Nice poem.” Or answer yesterday's Q of the Day. As for Sunday Scribblings, if I could stop time, I don’t know if things would be different. But, the post gave me the opportunity to think about Terence, and for that I am thankful.
Also, I can’t help but think, “Now I am an only child, again.”
When a man dies,
you must lay your ear
to his chest, hear the
non-beating of his heart,
be drawn in by the silence
that bonds you to this moment.
Even if you have nothing to say
even if you do not know the deceased
even if you never loved each other,
lean in closer. Closer.
Lower yourself into the casket.
Slip your hand under his shirt.
The last touch of this world