I'll Hold your tears in glass 

I 'll wrap  you in wool and safeguard the memories 

I'll take your pain 

and grow flowers from the emotional scars

I'll be the crag for the mountain you have to walk upon 

I'll be the candle in night 

I'll be your clown to bring you a smile 

wrapped in a bow 

I'll steal the stars and the suns 

and paint your room in happiness 

I' won't shove how are u doing in your face 

I'll tell you being not okay is simply okay 

I'll get angry with you 

I 'll cry with you 

I'll put myself in your shoes, in order to foretell the path you will tread on in your life 

I will encourage 

I will infect you  with power and strength 

I will savor the moments of triumph you feel in life and empower you and tell you can do this. 

I will never walk away when you say I need to be alone 

because here's the truth no one wants to be alone, they just want to savor the last drop of pride they have left in them after you have seen them crack emotionally 

I'll take your hand and open it and give you hope 

I'll talk about the angel you lost with you as your doing that, I am writing a collage of the memories and create you a time machine of pictures and words 

so that you will never lose them 

I'll crack my heart and shove you in 

to help you feel alive 

I'll Promise you that you will see them in paradise 

a kingdom of stars 

and that I know because dead souls live in our hearts 

I will never let you totter, 

I will get down on my knees in middle of night 

and pray to god 

that he will give you the strength you  need 

for death will be no more, neither  will there me no mourning or outcry 

for I live for this day, 

I will stand by you silently

As you grieve

I will not speak

Unless asked to do so

I will not interfere

Unless you want me to

I will be

Always

A presence

Someone to lean on

A shoulder to cry on

A ghost when you need

To be alone

But never far

I know that words

Will not soothe you

Platitudes

Will not comfort you

Sometimes just a friend

Can be whatever you need the most

#death #comfort #friends #challenge #poetry

Comfort

Is weird

You don't want it

But people still give it

Sometimes it's like they're stabbing you

"You poor sweet thing"

They say sickly

I'm not about to break

Your eyes respond

I want to help you

But what am I supposed to say

Because every single word

Seems like a thorn in your side

And I should know

It happened to me too

But I know not what to do

Maybe I can just sit there

And let your words seep

Let you complain into me

I'll take it all

So that you may breathe

Because I know what happened to me

If you let it out early

It'll be easier then on

Poetry is a great escape

It deals with emotion in a healthy way

And your poetry

Will be sad

It will hurt

And it will stab

Words are powerful they said

And they didn't lie

Words heal wounds

And open them up again

But trust me use them well

They can help you

Heal

I know from experience

Even if what I felt was different

Words helped me heal

And still do

To this day

So work up the courage

To not lash out

When they say

"I'm so sorry"

I know it's not their fault

They have no right to say that

Especially when they have

No relation to the deceased

But you can do it

Just don't listen

Nod when they speak that

Because in a few minutes

You can rant to me.

Make them laugh

Distract them from the pain

Because sometimes it's too horrible to face

Sing them a soft lullaby

Be the shoulder they can cry on

Because sometimes they just need to know That you are there

Leave them be

Don't grab their wrist and make them stay

Because sometimes the world is just too much

Start to make new memories

But don't for get the old

Because sometimes when you talk of the mother you lost

You can still feel her hand you used to hold

Everyone's grief is a different monster

One that morphs and changes as time goes on

They may need to laugh

They may need to cry

But there is one thing that will never make things right

Please don't say

Things will get better

The last stage of grief

Acceptance

Is a lie

There is no acceptance

You have lost the person who gave you life

You will never feel the same way again

Things will not get better

But they will get different

You'll learn to live again

Strutting out into the day

Allowing the sun to shine on your face

The pain will still be there

A scar that never seems to quite heal

But as with any scar

You learn to live with it

You learn to embrace it

You learn that their heart beats on with yours

Please understand

That things will become different

You can trust me

I've lost my mother as well

And I still feel her here

As I learn to live differently

What we want

and what we need

are two separate beasts;

She's not going to need

An I'm Sorry

or some condolences

or a monologue

on "how great of a person"

her mom was.

(Too often, People like

to fill the silence

with self important speeches).

She won't need you to speak.

She'll need you to listen,

to tell her yes, this fucking sucks

and it's okay to cry

and to scream and to rage

because this hurts

And maybe it will

for a long time,

these feelings are real

and genuine

and they mean something

because she loved fiercely

with all her heart

(It's okay to fall apart)

but eventually

she's going to need

to glue those pieces back

(maybe not quite the same)

and this is the hard part

because she's not

going to want to.

She's going to need you

to get her out of bed and go

to that favorite record store

Or to force her

into that dress she loved before

She's going to need someone

to tell her it's okay

not to drown herself in misery

it's okay to laugh again

it's okay to smile

to go out and be happy

for a little while.

it's okay to be sad too.

Stand by her,

in whatever she'll do

because it'll be hard sometimes

she'll be angry at the world

and take it out on you

Endure it for her -

I promise she loves you

she just feels alone

and needs the reassurance

you'll stay by her side

whatever the weather;

high or low tide.

there will be bumps

and bruises

and sometimes

you'll say the wrong thing

and her anger will hurt

her aloofness will sting.

it'll be a long road

but try,

continue to try

and I promise together

you'll get by.

Dr. Paul Pastorini welcomed and trusted people who didn’t always deserve it. That’s a dangerous and beautiful quality to have. I’ll always admire it about him.

He lived life with urgency. He was an Italian and a New Yorker. I met him before I can remember. But I always knew where he was from. That’s something else I admire about him.

He worked at the hospital with my dad. I didn’t know what a urologist was or that that’s what he did until I was probably 20. By that point, he’d already done enough good things for me that I didn’t care what he did for a living. He was a friend of mine.

I agreed to babysit his kids when I was in high school. That’s pretty much all I knew about the job when I first showed up at their house.

I was short on life skills at 16, but I was a fine big brother. That seemed a good resume for a babysitter. But I was nervous. There were two girls in there. Diapers.

They welcomed me. Dr. and Mrs. Pastorini laughed through my mistakes. The kids liked me to throw them in the air. I did one too many times. The youngest daughter, Sophia, bounced off the kitchen ceiling. I’ve never hated myself (or ceilings) more. I’ve probably told that story 20 times in my 2 years of fatherhood. I remember it so well because I was so worried. It’s a fun story to tell because Dr. and Mrs. Pastorini laughed off my failure. My failure was that I’d been trusted with three kids and I’d failed to exercise the restraint that distinguished me as the adult-having-fun from the kids-having-fun.

Restraint is the hardest part of being an adult. The greatest part of being a parent is that it feels ok to love your kids without restraint. It’s the first time since you were a kid that your conscience doesn’t tell you to ease up. You can over-extend yourself with professions of love for your baby. Nobody can blame you.

But there’s a burden to that, when you’re the kid, and Dr. Pastorini knew that. He taught his kids the value of restraint. His son was one of the most diligent students in restraint I’ve ever seen.

Dr. Pastorini and I discussed restraint in the roundabout ways of two guys in the gym, clanking free weights and spotting each other, round-tabling new workout regimens and eating patterns.

The really empowering thing about exercise is that it gives us a feeling of control, or restraint. I have a real weakness for that feeling. I’ve been an obsessive exerciser since I was 16. Dr. Pastorini knew that about me. Admired it about me.

It’s the people who flatter and confuse you that stay with you. When I die, I want to go in privacy. With the dignity of no one knowing what I looked like, maybe even where I was. A city name is fine, but not much more. Surrounded by people who knew what to order on my pizza.

Dr. Pastorini did not go like that. But he was an Italian, a New Yorker. He wore Yankees gear and a moustache in the 90s. Scrutiny sustained him. I’ll always admire that about him.

Dr. Pastorini will never leave me. He was a friend of mine. God rest his soul.

Just be there for her; in the room, on the phone, or right next to her. I learned never to say "I'm Sorry". From personal experiences it does not help and it does not make the person feel any better. Do not just sit there and cry. Go out have fun, shop a little, go to amusement park. That loved one would not want her to sit there and cry, the loved one would want her to happy. My advice is to go and have fun. Take her mind off of the subject. It worked for me. 

The world was still

At least for her

And I watched her eyes

Black holes

With nothing inside

My throat felt dry

And my face stiff

I wanted to say something

But

there were no words left

So I sat there

And held her hand

I was there

When she wasn't even

There herself

Then I knew

All I had to do

Was remind her

That I wasn't going

To leave her too

No one wants clumsy condolences, meaningless quotes from some obscure book written by someone who'd never experienced the death of a loved one, and least of all pity.

The important thing is not what you say, but what you do. Like making a meal for them. Or just being there. That's the important thing. Being there shows them that you care and that they're not alone.