Widower’s Song #4: This Urn
It held her ashes,
waiting until daffodils
came for them in spring.
Then it held one last bouquet
of her favorite flowers.
– above post (on phone) or beside it (on desktop). –
Widower’s Song #4: This Urn
It held her ashes,
waiting until daffodils
came for them in spring.
Then it held one last bouquet
of her favorite flowers.
I took my favorite photo of my late wife Edith in 1981, long before she showed symptoms of the disease that would dominate our lives in the current century. Alzheimer’s. I cared for her in our own home as long as possible; I visited often during her final years in a nursing home. This post is about one aspect of the endgame that may be helpful to others in a similar situation.
In Edith’s childhood home city, the Ohio River emerges from the confluence of smaller rivers. Three streams flow together at the end of this post. Please bear with me.
“Are you ready to bring Edith home now?” The funeral director’s question at the end of the calling hours brought me a sense of relief. She could come home at last, in our own car. While she waited for reunion with her favorite flowers in the spring of 2015, I began what eventually became a trilogy of haiku.
Widower’s Song #1
|No haiku can say
|how strange this is: her journey …
|ended before mine.
Widower’s Song #2
|Warm earth welcomed her,
|ashes among daffodils
|she planted and loved.
Widower’s Song #3
|Ghosts do not haunt me.
|Remembered joys can often
|overcome regrets.
In response to Sometimes Stellar Storyteller Six Word Story Challenge:
I scattered
her ashes
among daffodils.