Life, interrupted...

14 years, 4 months and 13 days ago, my maternal grandmother died.  She was 75 years old.  She was sweet, naive, kind, always there for me.  When she died I lost the single most important person in my life.  Today she would have turned 90.
 

When she died, I wanted to read a poem at her funeral.  I remember the church was so packed, people had to stand outside. I remember there was a map of the world on the back wall of the church, behind Christ on the cross. It's no longer there.

When she died, I thought I was lost. When she died I was not there with her, I was away, celebrating New Year's Eve... Her husband and two of her children, including my mother, were there with her.  I did not want to be there. She knew everything.  I had nothing left to say, nothing left to tell her.  She had always known that she was the most important person in my life and I did not want to believe that she was dying.  It took me a while to come to terms with that.  I did not want to see her lying in her coffin. I wanted to pretend that nothing had happened.  I wanted to pretend that life could go on, business as usual. I've missed her every day since.

When she died, I wanted to read a poem at her funeral.  A poem so sad it reflected exactly the way I felt that day, in front of all those people. I did not read that poem, I read a text that the priest had recommended.  I've always regretted it. So, today, on what would have been her 90^th birthday, here is the poem I wanted to read when she died:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message [She] Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

[She] was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

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