Published March 27, 2009 | 
Bad news tonight: 20-something brother of a friend was killed in a car accident. I ache for her and her family. For the long, long road of grief they’re starting to walk.
Futility
Move him into the sun -
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.Think how it wakes the seeds, -
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved – still warm, – too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?–Wilfred Owen
Jesus, people, stop dying young. It is not romantic. It is not beautiful. It’s an ugly, horrible waste and a miserable drain on the survivors.
And live well, and love each other. That’s all we have.
Ah, Wilfred Owen. There is nothing so redeeming for humanity as a good war poet.
it’s just NOT. FUCKING. FAIR.
not her.
not them.
not fair.
I’m so sorry. :hugs and prayers:
*hugs*
People have always died young. Fewer people die young in the here and now than ever before. It’s part of the circle, part of the cycle, just like everything else people do and don’t do. Telling people not to do it, even ironically, even in grief, is like telling the sun not to rise in the morning.
Ever since I lost my dearest friend and another was seriously injured, in the same week, this desolates me. 20 years ago in August, and might as well be yesterday.
Prayers for your friends.