My uncle Nathan, my mother’s brother, would have been 70 this month. He was only 40 when he died in 1988. Sad and shocked, I wrote this poem for my Mom at the time and it was part of his memorial service. Just today, I found it while browsing through old files from my Dad’s computer; it is sweet that he kept the poem all these years.
For You, Mom, On Your Brother’s Death
Love, the wind, God, memories:
all intangible,
all to be touched with
thoughts and feelings,
not with fingers.
All so precious:
lives, souls, people.
Does one quit existing
when the breath is gone
or
simply become an intangible,
touchable with thoughts,
with feelings,
like the wind?
Can we not summon Nathan
by thinking of him?
Is he not crystallized
into being in those
vignettes of him that
we remember?
Isn’t he still the same young
man who made
risqué remarks about the
pantaloons on my
doll Elizabeth,
because I remember
him that way?
Won’t I make a present
of a never-known great-uncle
Nathan
to my children by
conjuring his image,
remembering him that way?
With the wisdom of hindsight, I wish I had spent more time talking with my Mom while she was still alive about how she dealt with her brother’s death. I didn’t know then that I would also lose a younger brother while in my 40s.
Reading this (clumsy) early poem of mine again in the wake of my Dad’s death just six weeks ago, I still feel the same way about touching the intangibles, conjuring the images of the loved ones through stories and memories. My Dad is sitting on my shoulder right now, next to my Mom.
Copyright 2017, Glover Gardens Cookbook
August 1, 2024
Shared today with the fab peeps from the dVerse Poets Pub on an open links night. You can find a treasure trove of poems that were shared in response to the prompt here.
There was an optional reference in the prompt to summer fruits like plums and peaches and pears, oh my! So perhaps a little haiku, still to remember Nathan, and Mom, and youth, and endless summers where the possibilities were limited only by their imaginations:
they picked life’s fruits with
the giddy confidence that
youth was forever
Mom on the right, and Nathan second from left, around 1950. The possibilities were still endless.
Copyright 2024, Glover Gardens
Really sad to see this… Not sure why….even though I have never known him… I think its the pictures… it captures the moments with emotions running wild
Thank you so much. It is only recently that I realized my Mom and I had losing a younger brother much too soon in common, and sharing this poem from yesteryear helped me to process those feelings. I really appreciate your comments and am glad it touched you. Perhaps there has been a Nathan or a Steve in your life in some way.
Kim, I am so blown away by all of your writings….you are such an inspiration to me. I love you! I really missed out when you left. I really missed you!
Oh, Caren, you have no idea how being connected to you has brought back that part of my childhood. I missed you, too, and love being back in touch.
Such a poignant poem and the pictures add to it. Not clumsy at all, but very touching.
Thank you, Judy. I was pleased to remember that I was processing grief with poetry all those years ago, in my 20s. It is such a pleasure to be diving deeper into poetry at this stage, and to have found a community like dVerse.
A poignant poem indeed, Kim, and I am so sorry for your loss.
Thank you, Kim, as always.
You’re most welcome!
I am so sorry for your loss.. this is a beautiful poem.
Kim, what you have shared are so much more than the words of the poems. Lovely, sorrowful, and joyous at the thought that you can call loved ones back at will <3
I can’t express how much this resonates. My mom lost her son, my brother when he was 36. A matter of weeks ago, we lost my sister. Your poem is stunning and truly encapsulates the feeling of preserving their presence beyond the loss. Thank you for sharing.
I can’t express enough how much your comments mean to me, and how sad I am for you that you have just lost your sister, and for your Mom to lose her brother so early in life. Their presence will always be with you. It takes a long, long time to process, and for me, talking about the loved ones and writing poetry has been really helpful.
I see “my people” everywhere, in everything. Dad floated in through the Notre Dame window some years ago: https://glovergardens.com/haiku-open-window/ and I literally felt him in the concert hall in Austin at UT a couple of years after that.
Such poignant, powerful reflections. I’m so very sorry for your losses and your family’s losses. I don’t have to say “may their memories be a blessing,” because I can see they already are.
I can’t tear my eyes from Nathan in the college-era photo. He is literally glowing.
My mom was in her 90s when her brother died, but she was devastated. He was her only sibling, and he was several years younger. All of her old friends had already died, too.
Thank you for the story about your Mom. She must have felt so alone with her memories after he was gone. We are never too old to grieve – but also, as you say, to find blessings in their memories.
You’re very welcome, Kim. 💙
Kim, this is beautiful and poignant! It is devastating to lose someone in their prime. Those are lovely photos.