2.
There will be no wake
for Jerry Araos,
self-made sculptor
& landscape artist.
Flowers are forbidden
lest his funeral be
mistaken for some artificial
garden.
Cremation will be quick,
& ceremony brief.
He will not allow the living
to speechify on his absence.
Such is the solitary warrior
in him
who must have imagined
a long, long time ago
the kind of his passing
when
revolution was a true word
& betrayal
was never a big deal…
--Edel Garcellano in "The Warrior and Other Poems," http://theworksofedelgarcellano.wordpress.com/tag/artist-jerry-araos
5. Acceptance
Reaching this stage of mourning is a gift not afforded to
everyone. Death may be sudden and unexpected or we may never see beyond our
anger or denial. It is not necessarily a mark of bravery to resist the inevitable
and to deny ourselves the opportunity to make our peace. This phase is marked
by withdrawal and calm. This is not a period of happiness and must be
distinguished from depression… The dignity and grace shown by our dying loved
ones may well be their last gift to us.
Coping with loss is ultimately a deeply personal and singular experience
— nobody can help you go through it more easily or understand all the emotions
that you’re going through. But others can be there for you and help comfort you
through this process. The best thing you can do is to allow yourself to feel
the grief as it comes over you. Resisting it only will prolong the natural process
of healing. --Julie
Axelrod, "The 5 Stages of Loss and Grief",
http://psychcentral.com/lib/2006/the-5-stages-of-loss-and-grief/
how would i know, edel,
that the parting
between friends
& kin of spirit
would happen post-breakfast?
he took off for another round
of doctor's consultations
a dialysis session
with his wife following
carrying a full picnic basket
since jerry always wanted
to feed the nursing staff
that took care of him
& to tell them how he loved them
that morning i toddled off, too,
to pick up a new pair
of eyeglasses to see
the world through
proper lenses, the old pair
having caused
a lot of blurred
real images
how was i to know it would
be our last encounter
on that second week
of december
before i tumbled
half-heartedly into
the season's oft-times
mindless celebrating?
i left the books on
legacy writing,
on writing down the bones,
on leaving a trace
by a corner table
in his house
confident we would
resume conversing
after the holidays
yes, edel, he had begun
dictating, at random,
all the hurts & garbage
that had weakened
a strong, generous heart,
hurts left by mortals
unworthy of him
the doctor in the house
said we must continue
these exercises because
they would help him
achieve a catharsis
& perhaps perhaps
complete the healing
as he forgives trespassers
& also forgives himself
he had told his wife & me
his dream the night before,
how rock edralin was
summoning him
to join him,
crying out,
here's a better place!
he looked a bit shaken
before he could sip his first
half cup of coffee that morn
i shushed him,
trying to appear
the expert reader of dreams
who had read & engaged with
jung & freud now & then
jerry, it was not rock herself
who was calling you,
that was an aspect
of you,
rock is you,
the rock in your dream
was a stand-in
so the question is,
what did rock mean to you?
what did
she represent
in this life to you?
he looked away as was his wont
when we were diving into
deeper water,
then asked
for the platter of fruits
to be passed
the conversation moved
to another subject
as conversations are wont to do
when one reaches that place,
oh, how he'd hate this pun,
between a rock & a hard place
but i had heard him
speak of rock
in another time
in those long ago years
before cancer feasted on her
he said
if he faced the enemy
in an attack
where his soldiers
were outnumbered,
he would still be
there leading
with his guns blazing
even if his soldiers
had been decimated,
he would keep on firing
at the enemy because
he knew rock
was beside him
standing tall & fierce
blasting away
not flinching at
nor dodging
bullets
before long
time quickly ran out
he took his bath
dressed in his branded
shirt & slacks & mocs
& waved me off
with his gruff
"bye babeth!
i love you!'
the conversation
has never really stopped
--Babeth Lolarga
Dec. 30, 2012
6:22 a.m.
Photo of Jerry Araos at Crucible Gallery taken by Babeth in November 2012
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