Don't call me brave

A collection of poems about loss, grief and heartbreak.

Don’t call me brave,
And don’t say I’m strong.
I hate those words.
They couldn’t be more wrong.

Running into a burning building –
Now that is brave.
Choosing risk, putting yourself in danger,
For someone you might save.

But death and illness,
and grief and heartache.
Are forced upon us.
They’re not a choice we make.

So save your speeches about bravery,
They’re not for me.
I carried on because I have to.
There was never any other choice, you see.

This poem is dedicated to and inspired by people I know who have been forced to be brave and strong (yes - I do recognise how contradictory saying that about them is - bear with me). When someone has suffered a loss, we often find ourselves lost too - lost for words. Nothing feels like the right thing to say, so it can be very tempting to say nothing at all. We may even go so far as to avoid them, distancing ourselves from a difficult conversation. I have learnt that being there and saying something - anything - is better than saying nothing at all. You don’t think you are brave. You don’t recognise how strong you are. But others see it. I see it. If we say the wrong thing, forgive us. Sometimes no words are right. But I firmly believe words can be healing and are always better than an empty silence. If you or someone you know is feeling like this right now, then I hope that the next few poems might provide comfort over cliche and perhaps some better things to say.

When one door closes, they say another opens.
As one life ends, somewhere a baby is born.
Today we cry. Tomorrow we may smile.
There is a time for everything, and now is the time to mourn.

The Sun Will Rise

No matter what you do,
No matter how you feel,
The sun will rise each morning,
No-one can halt the unstoppable march of time,
No matter how you resist.

It is more constant than the moon and stars,
More eternal that any love story,
It is nature’s heartbeat: to night, to day, to night, to day.
There is no escape,
For even over the ever silent grave,
The light will dawn and the world still awakes.

No matter what you do,
No matter how you feel,
The sun will rise each morning,
No-one can halt the opportunity-laden cycle of renewal,
No matter how hard you resist.

How do you measure a life?

How do you measure a life?
Is it in hours, days and years
Or is it contained in the moments –
feelings, hopes, fears?
Is it about a grand total
Or an accumulation of all the small parts?
What is the unit of measurement:
length of time or depth of heart?

Perhaps it is measured in people,
But still, what do you actually count?
The number you love or those that love you?
Perhaps the lives touched is the right amount.
Is it in the difference that you make?
Or is it about what is unchanged?
Is it what you leave behind?
Or is it what you yourself gained?

The poet in me thinks it’s in the stories,
Precious memories of moments passed by.
Yet the mathematician still seeks a number,
A burning need to count and quantify.

Perhaps you can’t measure a life,
Because the word measure itself is the lie.
Perhaps you just have to live,
to experience,
until the the time comes to say goodbye.

Growing Old

I used to hate,
the way everything aches.
A constant remind,
of the passing of time.
Protesting bones
and muscles that groan.
Growing old is no fun,
I would tell everyone.

But now I’ve come to see:
Each creak is memory;
Every twinge and gripe
is a sign of a life.
Lucky to’ve had the chance
to run, jump, dance,
until my body says slow.
Not all of us grow old.

Forgetting

Just because I laughed today,
Doesn’t mean that you’re forgotten.
Just because I put your photo away,
Doesn’t mean that you’re forgotten.

People come and go,
Life ebbs and flows.
Should I step out with somebody new,
Update my style, change my hairdo,
None of this means, I’ve forgotten you.

I’ve noticed I mention your name less and less.
I appear I’ve got it together, no-longer a mess.
But that doesn’t mean the memories have left.

For shuffling forward is not forgetting.
A little light you have to let in.
Moving forward, without regretting,
The one you’re never ever forgetting.