Heavy Heart
It was not by choice, but he left much earlier than anyone expected, his body finally succumbing to the ravages of illness that had plagued his life. His last six months were the hardest for him. The hardest for us.
But we go on. And so she did, for another fifteen years. Missing his love. Missing the many things he’d done for all of their life together. She was overwhelmed at first, but we assured her that we would do anything for her.
And we did, but the time came when her own health issues became too much for her. As I sit beside her bed, holding her hand while she sleeps, I know that soon she will take her last breath. Both of my parents will be gone.
Sometimes the great bones of my life seem so heavy, no night heavier than this.
This is my response to Prosery: Bone Weary, the prompt from Linda Lee Lyberg at dVerse ~ Poets Pub. With Prosery, the challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction with a 144-word limit. I suppose this could be seen as fiction. Included in the bit of prose is to be a complete line from a poem. For this prompt, the line to be included is from “Spring Azures,” by Mary Oliver.
“Sometimes the great bones of my life seem so heavy,”
– Mary Oliver
I’ve met the additional challenge of hitting the 144-word mark, exactly.
rivrvlogr 
You’ve just turned me on to a new challenge. Thank you!
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It’s a nice challenge – putting a poetic twist into a bit of prose.
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Very moving, Ken! And beautifully written.
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Thank you, Lynn. Personal experience this one..
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You know, I wondered if it was…..Difficult time for you but it sounds like you could be with your mom, which is so special. May peace be with you and yours.
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Thank you so much, Lynne.
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Beautifully written, Ken. A heavy, but loving burden.
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Thank you, Merril. It was a time filled with love.
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This piece feels so real, it barely resembles fiction. Many of us are now nearer the end than the middle. We have become the infirmed, looked after by our children. And the great Wheel keeps on turning.
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That Great Wheel does keep on turning. My sisters and I looked after my mother for many years, and that came through in this.
Thank you, Glenn
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Ken, this is a stunning end of life piece.
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Thank you, Linda.
And thank you for the prompt.
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You’re welcome!
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Dear Ken thank you for this. In these strange and difficult times of plague and ultimate skullduggery, it is so moving to hear a true cri de couer but now I wonder if I spelled that write or even right. Love you man. You and Ms B hang in there. God willing and the creek don’t rise I will have my dream to drive across the country, and my path comes through Missouri for several reasons. Keep safe so I can be selfish and see you again. Then. Until. ❤
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Thank you, Daniel. These are trying times, and they remind us of the value of those in our lives.
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Coming up on the 20th anniversary of this event in my own life, KG. I feel this. Thanks for sharing so clearly. Awesome work, bravely recounted. Peace, Brother.
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Thanks back at ya, Ron.
I don’t visit this time often, but it seems like yesterday, every time I do.
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Beautifully expressed … and universal (though some may be a few years shy of realizing how universal) … letting go any loved one is hard, the one remaining parent especially significant. I’ve heard spiritual teachers say we finally grow up only after both parents have passed. However real or fictional your prosery, it definitely resonates. Mary Oliver is likely winking at you.
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Thank you, Jazz. For me, it’s hard to view something like this objectively while conveying the feelings that accompany it.
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Losing one’s parents is so hard. This write touched my heart. Blessings.
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Thank you, Beverly.
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Too depressed to read and comment this evening, just saying hello – be back when I am repackaged.
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Be well, Rob.
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Hard to shake off the heaviness of losing both parents.So well written, Ken.
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Thank you, Dora. The second loss is like opening the first one all over again.
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Yes, it is. I miss mine every day. Still wake up thinking about them, and it’s been six years since the last.
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Wow. Really.
Wow.
This is so human and relatable. I could imagine myself in this scene 15 years from now.
Amazing, Ken.
I’m sorry for the heaviness of the challenge.
-David
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Thank you, David. I could say that time heals, but I think it just adjusts.
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This was heartbreaking but there was also some comfort in the fact that the burden of the parents was passed to the adult children. It’s a burden most of us must carry sooner or later.
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Thank you, Ingrid.
After 40 years of marriage, I know I came to think of my parents as one. But they had their own individual personalities, and i like to think both live on within me.
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I really felt this one, Ken.
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Thank you, Kim. I think it’s a feeling that many know.
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Very heavy, Ken.
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These are the kind of thoughts that never leave you. Thank you, Jane.
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No, they don’t.
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A weight that never lifts. (K)
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Yes. One we shift while always learning to carry.
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The potency of grief and life clashing, wonderful write Ken.
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Thank you, Paul.
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Pleasure Ken.
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Ken this is truly heart breaking, knowing that one has gone one and the other will be with you only a little time
Be comforted holding good memories in tact
Thanks for dropping by to read mine
Much💖love
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Thank you, Gillena.
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And life is a circle. Our parents take care of us and we take care of them and pray our children won’t have to face our drawn out death. I’m so sorry for your pain.
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Thank you.
Many years have passed (2008 for my mother), but they’re always in my thoughts.
Then I think about the joy my children and grandchildren have brought, and I can smile.
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This is so beautifully written. My mother lived 9 years after my father died….she missed him terribly. I had the privilege of being with her on her death bed and I leaned over and whispered to her, go on now, Mom. Go to dad. But oh it was hard. Your story is palpable in its realness to me.
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Thank you, Lillian.
I like to think her suffering at the end turned to joy when she finally saw my father again.
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This is gorgeously rendered, Ken. So close to the truths of life which we come across as we age. I am deeply sorry for the loss of your mother, they always remain in our hearts and our thoughts.
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That they do, Sanaa. Thank you.
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How sad, how lovely, how real. I have shared these emotions, you described them perfectly.
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Thank you, Helen
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It’s not just the inevitable loss but also the burden of being the next one in line to take on the responsibility
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So true.
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This was heartbreaking. I almost lost my dad in December so I could really relate to the pain. It really makes you cherish each additional moment we have with our loved ones. Beautifully written.
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Thank you. My dad was in December. He was just 60, and that first Christmas was tough. We had my mother for those many years after, and Christmas at her home was always a special time with family.
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This broke me.
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This feels so very personal…to me for sure…but to you also. It is a part of life and so many must go through it…but it doesn’t make it any easier. Sending blessings, Ken.
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Thank you, Lorrie.
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