It was just the same old me who walked toward your room
on the seventh floor on that cold December night,
just me with the same old problems of
every day.
Still agonizing over Christmas traffic and a lost
suitcase, I entered the room where you lay, not nearly
prepared to find you dying.
So many years bottled up inside of me, I turned away,
thinking that if I ran quickly home I would see you
at the table, smiling your loving greeting.
You would pass me on the way to bed, touch my hair
and say,
Susan, doll, how lovely it is to have you here …
But I couldn’t run away from you.
Not now.
It was just the old me that I left crying in the hallway as I
reentered the room where you lay.
Who was this person within me,
so long forgotten in the maze of everyday things,
who walked
smiling through tears to hold your hand one more time?
Who was this person within me who felt no fear through
the bonds of family love that filled the air that night?
Who was this person within me who whispered,
It’s all right to let go now,
and who rejoiced silently for your homecoming awaiting?
I have walked through that door in my mind a hundred times
since your passing
just to smell the sweet scent of the veil
so thin and to feel, once again, the words that came from somewhere
not so far away, saying,
Andrew, Beloved, how lovely it is to have you here …
The tears were only ours that night,
for your pain had turned
to triumph.

[photo] Photo by Welden C. Andersen