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View Diary: Random Comet Lovejoy  12/2/73 - 9/12/10  R.I.P. (185 comments)

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  •  Lost sons. The words Emerson wrote after losing (5+ / 0-)

    his young son always go through my mind and heart at such times. When I hear of those lost in war... in any way... and not just a son and not just a child. It echoed through me as I viewed your pictures, learned the story, grieved the pain of this loss those who loved him

    Threnody is a very long poem, written at various stages of grief. Just scattered bits of it are etched vividly in my memory and those are the parts I will share here. From the start of it:

    The South-wind brings
    Life, sunshine and desire,
    And on every mount and meadow
    Breathes aromatic fire;
    But over the dead he has no power,
    The lost, the lost, he cannot restore;
    And, looking over the hills, I mourn
    The darling who shall not return.
    ...

    The gracious boy, who did adorn
    The world whereinto he was born,
    And by his countenance repay
    The favor of the loving Day,--
    Has disappeared from the Day's eye;
    Far and wide she cannot find him;
    My hopes pursue, they cannot bind him.
    Returned this day, the South-wind searches,
    And finds young pines and budding birches;
    But finds not the budding man:
    Nature, who lost, cannot remake him;
    Fate let him fall, Fate can't retake him;
    Nature, Fate, men, him seek in vain.

    Then from near the end:

    Wilt thou not ope thy heart to know
    What rainbows teach, and sunsets show?
    Verdict which accumulates
    From lengthening scroll of human fates,
    Voice of earth to earth returned,
    Prayers of saints that inly burned,--
    Saying, What is excellent,
    As God lives, is permanent;
    Hearts are dust, hearts' loves remain;
    Heart's love will meet thee again.

    Unreal that sorrowful losses happen to so many people every day... and damned if sometimes it isn't us.
    and somehow those of us still here have to go on
    Death seems so alien and that is strange in itself, death is hardly a rarity. A  line from a poem I wrote in jr high was "From the day our birth announced us our death has been assured..."
    Every person we love, every child we have, every pet we take in adds to the chances of being grief stricken actually. And the options? To not love and live?

    Not that this is the time of a philosophical discussion about life and death... but I am trying to get to... some tone that is part of your diary... the rhythm of life, the dealing with death, the shared experience, the shared good-bye. It was beautiful and heart wrenching
    Thank you for sharing this Claude, though I wish it wasn't there for you to share. (My son was born in 73 also while I see the man he is I still see that 4 year old... as you must see that toddler you had to leave behind. I am glad you got time with the man)

    Fare Thee Well Random, may your journey be joyful and your peace profound.

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