Never is there warning
No sound of approaching,
Each evening, just when
The day declares itself complete
An unknown dam opens
An unseen floodgate is overcome
By what? Silence? Darkness?
And then come the tears.
Why precisely then?
Then, I thought a primordial memory, repeated nightly, long ago
The rite of bedtime. Washing brushing hugging kissing goodnight, then off to prayers and sleep
Carrying ample evidence of love.
Those smiles, storing up later tears.
Grief, said the Queen and others, is the price we pay for love.
A heavy cost. But considering it all, the most worthwhile investment.
The nightly dam-break, a tribute rendered to a life blessed and blessing
One thought on “The Price We Pay”
Those tears are a purging, too, John. Sorrow opens us more deeply to God. One of the most useful things I ever read, I don’t know the author, describes tears of grief as “the silver’d interest on God’s loan.”
Years later, when my younger brother died suddenly, I read the words of Ram Dass, saying something that sounded just like Kevin. “We’re all just walking each other home.”