You were the words on my every page
The bookmark of our story
The fine leather binding
Of our life, and all its history
You were the exclamation points
The commas and semi-colon
Each period at the end of our sentences
And the question marks I depended on.
So, when I pick up my pen
And try to write here
Something is sorely missing
Our ink still stains my hand and I try to share.
But everything seems to run together
Nothing stops when it should all end
No pauses, when I should rest
No answers to the questions, I’d learned to depend.
Tears stain the blank white pages
Where, now, there are no words to read
A book with so many unwritten chapters
Its emptiness, makes life seem so dead.
Your precious pen and ink lay beside the empty chapters
Of a book filled before with memories of love
Beginning in our youth, to your final breath
Ending and new beginning are held in heaven above.
I was not ready for you to leave
Your pen’s now in my hand
Your faith in me, that I could finish our story
Not alone, you said, but with a God who understands.
My humanity begged you to stay
But in my heart I knew,
As you dictated your last words,
That I must learn to write something for you.
You placed my hands, though they belonged to you,
Into the hands of our heavenly Father
Asking me to begin penning the punctuation
That day we moved the bookmark, together.
It is still there awaiting grief to subside a little
So that white pages stained only with tears
Can hold the memories of our words again
For the hope of today and of the coming years.
I write alone in my Fathers strength
His grace and hope now fill my pen
As I write around the stains of grief
And the tears that still fall now and then.
You left too soon, but I will carry on
Someday, is a sojourn not a dread
And I will see Jesus standing there
Arm around your shoulder and a crown upon your head.
WS. December 2015
In Chris’s memory