"In Silence" by Thomas Wolfe

In Silence

Was it not well to leave all things as he had found them,
In silence, at the end?
Might it not be that in this great dream of time
In which we live and are the moving figures
There is no greater certitude than this:
That, having met, spoken,
Known each other for a moment,
As somewhere on this earth we were hurled onward
It is well to be content with this,
To leave each other as we met,
Letting each one go alone to his appointed destination,
Sure of this only, needing only this--
And silence only,
Nothing but silence,
At the end?

[Since Wolfe's poem poses a question, my answer is no. The silence is part of the music, the vibrations of life that we cannot hear living, but perhaps we will become when we pass. His phrase "hurled onward" described for me that feeling of being put on this grief journey--not my choice, I was hurled to this path with Caitlin's death. And the letting go, is excruciating and once again, there is no choice but to surrender to it.]

"Magic" by Thomas Wolfe

Magic

And who shall say --
Whatever disenchantment follows--
That we ever forget magic,
Or that we can ever betray,
On this leaden earth,
The apple-tree, the singing,
And the gold?


I have no idea to what disenchantment Wolfe speaks of, but for me the horrors of Caitlin's death threatened to make me forget the joys of life and the magic of the ordinary. That she lived, that she gave me the gift of motherhood, that she looked into my eyes and saw her mother and heard her mother's songs, is for me the "gold."

Peace. May all find what is gold in their ordinary lives.