Shoreline
Waves wash across the shoreline of my mind
Memories lap against my bare feet in the sand
Receding back from whence they came.
Quickly capturing any remains of them
Leaves me nothing more than wet.
But it is something. It is a reminder.
It is not for nothing that I recall.
For there is another wave coming.
I see it in the distance, cresting my way.
And I find myself in anxious anticipation
Of his presence upon the shoreline of my mind.
- Written the day after Tyler’s burial 21 June 2022
The Time
We were together
By each other’s side
The time we had
We could not hide.
Our talk reached heights
Discussing all our tutors
The time we had
Depth, breadth twin suitors.
Work in sweat or prose
Tasks for shouldering
The time we had
Collective sculpturing.
Or oft in silence
Standing in reflection
The time we had
Mutual affection.
And now I ponder all those times,
Happy, sad, I remember
The time we had on my mind
January through December.
- Written on July 4th, 2022. A day to remember Tyler’s freedom from the war against paranoid schizophrenia
Dear Mark:
I only just discovered just in the last twenty minutes that your son had taken his life sometime in the last month, and I was overcome with sadness for him, for you and for Robyn. I am terribly,
terribly sorry. I know you have had many years of struggle and loved him so beautifully the whole time.
I also read through many Facebook entries and saw some of his beautiful poetry, the wonderful pictures, and
what others said.
Mark, my heart aches for you and Robyn, for Chelsea and her family. You were exceptional parents and did
so much to help your son. I see even now the profound love you express for him. I know you have been
surrounded by loving wishes, great support, and God’s grace which filters in at those times in ways that
are hard to describe. Nevertheless, the space where he lived is empty, and you miss him dreadfully and
mourn the horrors that abound in this world and confuse and injure the people we love.
May God be with you closely and give you hope and comfort and a sense of eternity when those fail.
With great affection and sorrow,
Rosie
P.S. This seems to be the only way I can get ahold of you. I don’t know why I don’t have your phone number, and no emails will go through.