I’m not sure what to say but only wish I were in Melb now to give you a hug.
The following poem by Celia Wenig might express some of your feelings now and I hope that it will help you find that center within yourself where love has alway been residing and would continue to radiate.
To My Beloved
by Celia Wenig
You had a talent for bringing special meaning to life,
It was such a pleasure to be your wife.
You helped me to grow and to realize
The fullness and the beauty in our lives.
Every day I counted my blessings.
Then God called, and you went away
Out of this world to a brighter day.
Suddenly my life of gladness
Turned to utter sadness.
My grief wears me down, I shed so many tears,
As I recall your love and devotion through the years.
For your sake and in memory of your name,
I pray for strength to do things the same.
To reach out, to fill the hours with useful ways,
To comfort, to cheer and have no more empty days.
I try to console myself — it was God’s greater plan,
So I must accept it, if I can.
You moved away to His splendid home above,
If there is life after death,
I know you will be waiting there for me,
Though Heaven and Earth divide us, and the distance is so great,
I count my blessings for the years you were my mate.
I will live my life remembering, while you wait, slumbering.
My beloved, may you rest in peace.
The next poem by Mary E. Frye might express some of what Darryl might want to speak to your heart…
Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep
by Mary E. Frye
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain.
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush.
I am in the graceful rush
of beautiful birds in circling flight.
I am the star shine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom;
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing;
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there; I did not die.
“If we knew we were on the right road, having to leave it would mean
endless despair. But we are on a road that only leads to a second one, and
then to a third one, and so forth. And the real highway will not be sighted
for a long, long time, perhaps never. So we drift in doubt, but also in
unbelievable diversity and beauty. Thus the accomplishment of hopes always
remains an unexpected miracle…but the miracle remains forever
possible.” ~ Franz Kafka