Poem captures the heartache of losing a loved one
Knowing the end is close for someone you love is one of the most difficult things you can ever deal with. All the preparations and time in the world are never enough to make you ready for the death of a loved one. This beautiful poem is sure to resonate with anyone who’s had to grapple with a tragic loss.
Enduring Guardianship
I was cool on the way to the lawyer, we’d talked it all through, no problem.
So why am I remembering the old kauri house where the wiring was dodgy
and I held my breath as she flicked the switch to turn off the power?
How can I do it without her, flick off the switch of life, decide on her fate
or my own, without consultation, alone? What if she goes and I’m inconsolable?
What if she stays and doesn’t know me?
I was cool on the way to the lawyer, we’d talked it all through, no problem.
So why am I seeing Durdle Door, that day when the sea scouts came upon us;
we were naked, swimming alone, so we thought. Why am I feeling the sting
of the storm on Mt Aspiring as she yanked me up the ravine? Why am I
watching the furious river trash those filthy trail bikes? We laughed
and cheered; we thought our laughter would never end.
I was cool on the way to the lawyer, we’d talked it all through, no problem.
So why am I hearing the birds in the flax at breakfast-time?
Who will speak to the sparrows for me, find out who’s courting who?
Who will converse with the cows, compliment them on their new calves?
Who will call to the hawk as he hovers in flight? Who will mopoke the owl
late at night? Not me, you see I’m part-city, she’s country to the core.
I was cool on the way to the lawyer, we’d talked it all through, no problem.
So why am I tasting the spray on our farm by the sea? Who will natter to the neighbours? Who will croon over crabs creeping sideways? Who will worship
the worms in the soil? Who will head off the terrier coming straight towards us?
Who will gentle the pony for me? Who will gentle my feral heart,
coax me out of my burrow, interpret nature, my nature for me?
I’m not cool on the way home from the lawyer, so we talk it all through, again.
Written by Sue Ogle.
This is an extract from Falling And Flying: Poems On Ageing, Edited by Judith Beveridge and Dr Susan Ogle, Brandl & Schlesinger.
All proceeds from book sales will go directly to the Penney Ageing Research Unit at the Royal North Shore Hospital. For Book sales, please email sogle@med.usyd.edu.au. For Donations, please click here.
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