As 2020 closed, many of us were glad to see the backside of it, though we're still mired in the pandemic. Keep diligent, stay home, and when you do go out, wear a mask. STAY SAFE!!!
I, like many others, struggle through the holiday season. We as a society must show compassion and understanding for those people, our brothers, our sisters, our neighbours, our friends, our coworkers. Mental health has no boundaries.
I lost a son two years ago to suicide and it haunts me every day—particularly during the "holiday time," as he died Dec. 31, 2018. One finds oneself walking, pacing, unaware that you're doing it. Throughout this tragedy, I was encouraged to write—my thoughts, emotions—even to write a letter to my beloved son.....BUT write what?
At two in the morning the other night I felt compelled to express my sorrow by writing a poem.
I share this with you as part of my healing and also with hopes that if another person reads this, they can get a little comfort knowing they are not alone in grief.
Hang in there, everyone! Let us hope that with each day we get a little closer to a stable, kinder, COVID-free world.
(ANOTHER) DEAD OF NIGHT
John R Hewson MD
Two Christmas nights, plus five nights more,
My firstborn crossed the line.
His inner pain had scarred his core:
He chose to cut the twine.
And since my loss—now broken man,
Though never one to quit--
I feel each step more tough to span,
That I’m no longer “fit.”
I’ve always lived a simple code:
“I am my brother’s keeper.”
In ICUs I trod that road
No matter steep or steeper.
But now I’m old, I’m on the shelf--
No longer at the fore.
Now pacing nights, a useless self,
With son who died before.
I think of all the lives I’ve saved,
And then to God I wail:
“How could You let me manage THAT,
And yet, my own son—fail?”
I watch as dawn announces day,
And birds begin to tweet.
And every morn, again, I pray
I’ll once more find my feet.
Be with me, God!
I need You—NOW—and evermore!