I will be flying to Denver early tomorrow morning. I will give a eulogy at her funeral. I wrote her obituary, which doesn’t begin to capture everything that is important and everything I will cherish about her.
I love her, and I am looking every day for that feeling that she is with me and watching over me. She said she would be. But all I feel is her absence. I will keep hoping. This poem by Emily Dickinson (Fr. 428) has been my lifeline:
We grow accustomed to the Darkâ€”
When Light is put awayâ€”
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Good byeâ€”
A Momentâ€”We uncertain step
For newness of the nightâ€”
Thenâ€”fit our Vision to the Darkâ€”
And meet the Roadâ€”erectâ€”
And so of largerâ€”Darknessesâ€”
Those Evenings of the Brainâ€”
When not a Moon disclose a signâ€”
Or Starâ€”come outâ€”withinâ€”
The Bravestâ€”grope a littleâ€”
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Foreheadâ€”
But as they learn to seeâ€”
Either the Darkness altersâ€”
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnightâ€”
And Life steps almost straight.
Dickinson, Emily. The Poems of Emily Dickinson: Reading Edition. Edited by R. W. Franklin, Cambridge, Belknap, 2005.