The Widows' Handbook: Poetic Reflections on Grief and Survival

Thirty Years

48 the widows’ handbook Thirty Years Diana O’Hehir You said, I thought of you every day we were apart and we were apart thirty years. I laughed and told you that was impossible I tried to pull your hair which was white and clipped short. Your son and I discussed this at your deathbed over your prostrate body. (You were quiet being full of morphine.) And once again I said, Impossible not every day not for thirty years which woke you out of your coma. You struggled up and tried to say, yes propped on one wobbly arm on the too small rented hospital bed Yes. while I moved toward you just beginning to understand how thirty years is not that long. bereft, mourning 49 Not compared with permanent. Not compared with always. ...