(For my sister)

I thank you for the words you did not say.
When grief, so howling harsh and biting deep,
Crippled us both and pulled us low.
Bereavement was something new.

I thank you for your anger and your tears.
Your focus, shunting through old family routines,
Forced action when our hearts ran slow.
Loss was a waking dream.

I thank you for your delicate, fragile fears.
Those ones which, once finally spoken, drew us close;
No bitter language pushing us apart.
Mourning was freshly learned.

I thank you for your loss, your emptiness and grief.
For understanding, then, that we were all we had;
For coming to learn to love me as I was,
And giving me space to love you in return.

© Anne McMaster 2016