A Sad Farewell

I visited a childhood friend last night.  For much of the evening the two of us sat in a room where on so many other nights throughout the years we’d joked and laughed and celebrated life and love.  Speaking in low tones, tears in our eyes and hearts, we held each other.  In the back bedroom a lovely care person tended to my friend’s mother, death creeping closer and closer. 

This morning, as I prepare for this new day that I’ve been blessed with, a poem offers me solace.

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste, 

And I had put away

My labor, and my leisure too,

For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove

At recess, in the ring;

We passed the fields of gazing grain,

We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, he passed us;

The dews grew quivering and chill,

For only gossamer my gown,

My tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed

A swelling of the ground;

The roof was scarcely visible,

The cornice but a mound.

Since then ‘tis centuries, and yet each

Feels shorter than the day

I first surmised the horses’ heads

Were toward eternity.

—Emily Dickenson