About poetry and loss

Many years ago, I started to write poetry. It was healing to me, and it still is.
My poems just appear, whenever I am affected by something or someone. It is like they are just floating out there, waiting for the right moment to find me as their vessel, to bring them into words. Poetry is emotions formed, to the best of our ability, because emotions are so intricate, words will never fully cover the meaning of them. But we try. That is one way of communicating.

6 years ago today, my life as I knew it stopped. I lost my younger brother. My handsome, silent, funny, talented, shy, intelligent brother. He decided life was too hard to live. It is a desicion that to me stands as brutal, but also courageous. So many times in our lives, we postpone making desicions, some even kill themselves slowly with alcohol or other substances, to avoid desicions one way or another. I miss him dearly, but I can respect his choice. It would be selfish of me to wish him to be here just because I can not bare to lose him. If he saw no light at the end of the tunnel, perhaps it is better for him to be free. And I. I have to learn to live with the loss, the way we all learn to live with loss during our lifetime. I want to do it with openness, grace, and to remember with love.

I know that some of you will disagree. Please do so, in your own hearts. 6 years seems like a long time, but the wounds are still fresh, and expressing my experience here does not mean I am open to criticism for my viewpoint. I just wanted to share. Sharing is bringing something to the table, to hopefully enrich the experience and inner life of others. I do not expect you to share my opinion, just to respect it.

(My poetry often comes in Norwegian, my mother tongue, and once in a while in English. Today it is appropriate to share one about bereavement)

Jeg trodde tiden stoppet opp
Men den sildret som regntunge dager
gjennom årene
Slik at mitt hjerte slo,
tungt og uvillig
som de slepende bena, for å se kisten din

Den dagen stoppet du opp
Historien om deg ble borte for alle andre
og når jeg erindrer, vil de trøste meg
Det er ei trøst jeg trenger

Det er å holde deg levende

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