There's an emotional blockage that's searching for release. What we really need is a hard, outlined, and solid shape to provide a target for us to aim our pain, our confusion, our anxiety, and our loss at. Yet this is vaporous. Barely visible, but there.
RIP Caterina D'Amico Abbate 1922-2011
I will lean on another person's words, and plagiarize a poem that I've always found very sensible and that's able to speak far more eloquently than I, to honor this person that left a gaping hole in our lives.
W. H. Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.