I Heard That You Just Set Off on a Journey

Uncut Poetry

What do you do when a friend dies? The one friend who spoke softly and was beside you in the best and worst of times. What can you say except that's it's just too soon. That, if an end was inevitable, why would someone so sweet and kind ever have to go through the pain he had to go? That why would an affliction like cancer affect someone who had not harmed a fly in his life. I look at his photograph and I think of the times we'd shared. From college, through our respective marriages, to having our kids, to this, now this. Someone in deep sorrow had once said that god is in desperate need of good people up there, that's why the nicest of them all are being called up. I can well believe that. Too many people I've loved have died. All much before their time. But then - when is it too soon? As an individual, in relationships? Is age the criteria or unfinished work? Or the fact that infinite potential suddenly grows cold? Often when I see someone put on ventilators and other desperate means to keep breath going, though it's clear that the person is well nigh gone, I wonder if we should not dignify death and just let it come and take a person away. What is the use of letting pain eat away a good man's soul? We reconcile to every death, because it is the fact we live with, but the hauntings rarely go away. The missed opportunities of shared times, the softness of a smile remembered, the unexpected visit, the phone call when most needed. There is no substitute to the care a good friend can give. There then becomes a life before and a life after. However much the routines of daily life engulf us, loved ones we lose are air pockets of emptiness, which we hit and plunge endlessly. We survive but our existence gets tied into knots, which we spend a lifetime unravelling. Losing someone dear and close is to lose the possibilities of myriad conversations and things we could be. Because we change for and because of the people we love. And when we lose them, there is always a part of us which lies orphaned. As a body grows cold, there's a part of us which also stratifies and freezes into eternal sorrow. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on passing on -

• What Do We Leave Behind
• If I Commit Suicide
• She Held His Hand As He Drifted

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Get in touch with me on [e-mail] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows - Positano by Otis Galloway