In the late summer and fall of 2016, I made several grave errors in judgement. My poor response to one person’s cruel mockery cost me dearly, setting in motion a course of events that contributed to the death of my then best friend and future wife (I came to find out well after the fact that she had already settled in her heart that she would accept my proposal when I gave it). The pain and grief have been hard to bear, especially since learning of this. I would have been lost if it weren’t for my faith and several friendships that gave me strength through it.
One of these friends recently reintroduced me to the terzanelle, a form of poetry that I never quite understood when I studied it in school—I comprehended it intellectualy but I never “got” it, never “felt” it… until now.
A couple of days ago as I considered this friend’s condition and my affection for her, my thoughts coalesced into words and I found that this particular form of poetry enabled me to express my appreciation for her in a way that I never previously could. Later that night with a little over two hours of feeling, struggling, working and reworking, I created my first terzanelle, amazed at my newfound ability to pour out my heart into words.
Unfortunately I went from this state of happy reflection to dreaming incessantly about my other friend who I lost. I woke up several times in a heart-racing sweat, unable to shake these dreams. Over and over, dozens of times, every good and bad moment came back to haunt me, tormenting me.
As I lay in bed while the sun rose and slowly filled my room with light, I struggled to hold back the tears, thinking about loves past and this friend in particular. The darkness was nearly overwhelming, chasing out the light with my heart aching unlike it has in quite a while. Rather than wallow in grief and despair, I chose to channel my depression into this new-to-me form of expression: thus this, an hour of my life invested therein, my second terzanelle; an hour spent creating rather than waisting away in self-pity and loathing.
While the circumstances may not be the same, I know that many of my friends struggle with their own loss, grief and depression. I pray that you find your outlet; in the meanwhile, I hope that you find some comfort in reading these words, knowing that you’re not alone: Missing Her