Last Friday afternoon a professionally framed print of the poem, "Splendour in the Grass", landed at our front door. Elaborately wrapped, it arrived with no indication of the sender. It was addressed to me. Anyone who knows me at all knows my "radiance" and "glory of the flower"--words mentioned in the poem--could only mean Jenny and my relationship with her. So, I infer this was sent to me because of my loss.
If you're reading this post and sent me this poem, first of all, I wish to thank you. I also want you to know it had an impact in me in several ways:
1) As soon as I uncovered the print and read the beginning of the poem, I collapsed onto a chair, unable to stop sobbing or even stand up for 40 minutes. I found the first six lines devastating. Reading that "the radiance" has been "for ever taken from my sight" and that "nothing can bring back...the splendour in the grass" ripped through my heart like a bullet. Even now, nearly three full months of being without her, I haven't fully accepted that Jenny has passed away. Those lines in the poem shoved me into a harsh reality with nowhere to hide.
2) I don't feel as alone. Even though the poem was written by Wordsworth more than 200 years ago, I feel as though somebody sympathized--maybe even empathized--with my plight. (A quick internet search revealed Wordsworth could have been writing about youth and not the death of a loved one, though.) It's as if somebody read my mind from the past and then articulated my thoughts far better than I ever could. Yes, I can say there are "soothing thoughts" that resulted from my suffering. And, yes, I do believe I now have a mind that's better equipped than before. These are no replacement for Jenny, but they are nevertheless positive aspects brought to my life nevertheless.
3) Coincidentally (or not?) this was one of my mom's favorite poems, which makes it all the more meaningful. This isn't to say I ever read the poem before, though--I didn't. My mom loved to read and memorize poetry. She would talk to me about poems as if she were in love. Alas, I wasn't into poetry while she was alive.
4) When he saw the framed print, Dylan said it well when he said, "How sweet. Someone wanted to show they cared but didn't want to receive credit." Or, to put it another way, I infer you wanted me to receive a message of optimism and that message should stand alone. It shouldn't matter who sent it.
5) Because the print was sent anonymously, it helps me see at least a few of my friends more positively. Things have been awkward lately with some. I get it: I lost a spouse, so what do you really say to me? It's something I struggled with in the past myself when a friend lost a loved one. The anonymity of this gift allows me to believe it could have been given to me by any one of my friends--even the silent ones--as a thoughtful way of reaching out instead of connecting with me through conventional means.
Side note: I have since kept this framed poem on the master bedroom wall and I often read it whenever I pass by it. There is, however, another poem that deserves mention while we're on this topic. It's also one that my mom loved and it also speaks of loss. It's by TS Eliot and is called "Little Gidding". It offers a rather hard message in the line:
The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree Are of equal duration
In this context, the yew tree symbolizes old age, depression and death. In other words, to take this quite literally, my 24 years of absolute happiness with Jenny will be followed by an equal duration in the depths of sadness. Looking from where I am today, I would say that's a fair estimate indeed.
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