By Marion Waterston, December 20, 2004
They say that you're not really gone
That you live on inside me
My new silent partner
Witness to empty days
And restless dreams
But I say–– that's not enough.
I want you here, I want you now
I want my eyes to caress that face of yours
My arms to hold your body
And feel the heartbeat that affirms life's presence
I want to hear your sweet voice calling my name
Teasing me the way you used to do.
If only I had known
These simple moments wouldn't last
Ahh––– then I would have kissed them
And put them in a bottle and together
We would sail through the storms raging in my heart
If only I had known.
Now I know––– now I understand
That life and love don't last forever.
They are but fireflies in the night
And as their fleeting brilliance fades
They whisper "Love now and love well."
So my friend, you say, "That not enough?"
Well–– enough will have to be enough.
Learn that and move on.
Marion Waterston survived the loss of two members of her family to suicide- her husband, Richard, a psychiatrist, forty-seven years of age, and her son Mark, a college student, nineteen years of age. Following the death of her husband, she helped found a group for widowed people in Rockland County, New York and served as its first president for three years. After the death of her son, some sixteen years later, she joined a group specifically designed for those who had lost someone to suicide. Upon moving to Albuquerque in 1995, she joined "SOS" (Survivors of Suicide) and for the last few years has been president of that group. She states that she's been aware of certain differences in the way she grieved for her husband and then, her son. Some of these differences are expressed in her poetry.