You are as fond of grief as of your child.
Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief?
King John III.iv, William Shakespeare
I love the thought of ghosts and lingering souls
Spirits present, dark shadows with intent
I don’t fear eerie noises or the cold
Air shivering in our ancient vents.
And as I want my living children to
Fulfil their full potential so I wish
For silent Iris to turn poltergiest
Possess my house and lightbulb filaments
Or leave me gothic portents where she can
Prevent calamity or incident.
More than only ash at least, more than
Dust and tears for my lost innocent.
I still hold on despite advice and proof,
Can one let go of nothing? Empty air,
Would she drift off to haunt another womb
If I moved on and left her memory there?
I’m ever fondly constant in my grief,
It must go on, it must go on for her,
There is an odd betrayal in relief,
That loyal in my love I shall abjure.
How do you feel about the possibility of "moving on"? Do you want to?