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The Healing Power of Poetry

© Kay Day

On the Loss of a Loved One
Last Saturday morning I awoke to the sound of my husband's voice. He was speaking with someone on the phone. I have come to know the different tones of his voice well enough to deduce that something was very wrong. He said goodby and, as gently as possible, he told me that a very dear friend of mine, a man I loved as a brother for twenty-eight years, was dead by his own hand.

Once the shock subsided, grief set in. The next day was July 4, a holiday that, in the southern part of the United States, means family and friends. We always cook for a crowd, and my friend was usually part of that celebration. I walked onto the patio after our meal and sat down to have a second to myself. My eyes fell upon the small yellow roses that he and I both loved, that he had often admired when he visited,and, in that moment, my grief turned to anger towards him, and towards myself. Could I have done more? Could I have helped him in some small way that might have prevented this tragedy? How could he have done this? All his closest friends were asking the same question.

I went to the funeral home to pay my respects; my friend had requested that his ashes be scattered on the wild and scenic river known as the Saluda in this area. I came home and, in the days that followed, went about the motions of everyday life. He was in my mind constantly. Diagnosed with bi-polar disorder, my friend had led a very tortured life for some time. I knew I had to forgive him; forgiving myself would be harder.

The Power of Poetry
In the days prior to my friend's death, I had begun to read a book of poetry, Athens Avenue, for an upcoming column here. Once again I picked up this book and turned to the beginning. By coincidence, the first poem in the book was about death. Wendy Carlisle's Another Question About Dying dealt with the philosophical aspect of death in general. What happens when we die?

it all goes on. Without us. Breakfast.
Someone's reflection. The heaviness of air.

Another poem by David Hunter Sutherland, Bury a Sister, approaches death on a personal level. As I read these lines, I knew exactly how the poet felt as he penned them.

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