Dirge of the Heart

As my self-prescribed therapy, I write to my son, Mikael, a letter every other day or so... sometimes, daily, "telling" him what's up in my life and how I feel from day to day. So far, I have quite a fat folder of "Dear Mikael" letters. Besides writing to Mikael, I also, when led, spill out my wailing heart on paper in the form of, sort of, poetry, at which a true poet may grimace.

This post entry, entitled "Dirge of the Heart" is a collection of my visceral expressions through my silent voice coming directly from the rawness of my broken heart. The sentiments expressed in my poetry is essentially an important part of me. All I am asking you, the readers, is to pray for me, Debbie, Mons, Erik, and Konrad, for our healing and a brighter future in our lives gifted to us by our Heavenly Papa. Thank you.


The Remains of Our Lives

Elongated shadows cast by the trees
Against the late-afternoon sun
Always tug at my heart in
Non-descript terms, merciless ways.

In this melancholic twilight of life,
I am neither joyous, fulfilled,
Downcast, nor sorrowful.
I just am… falling, grieving, restlessly pining.

Treasuring memories of hearty living
At the remains of our lives
Where he chose one fork of the road leading to the other side,
And I, mine, remaining here to reminisce and cry.


Tom Chan
November 19, 2009
Mourning Mikael’s passing


Christmas Crafts Show

Folks milling about
Shopping for
Pieces of their lives
In this jubilant Yuletide
Artisans' carnival,
Wishing surrealistically
You were here and
Be part of the show
As you always were,
While, in fact, I sit here
Among the throng
Alone,
Hurting from
Your untimely passing.


Tom Chan
At the loss of his son, Mikael
November 28, 2009



Season of Discontent

Nine o’clock on a Sunday morning
When the sun battles in vain
To dissipate the shroud of gloom
Vacuum-packed tightly around my heart.

Thick amputated limbs of the widow’s tree next door,
Laden with over-night snow, reach over my window,
Beckoning me to consider our common fate
In this season of discontent.

I am neither living nor dying.
I go through restless living-like motions
In dying-like lonely hollowness,
Too fearful to hear the occasional echoes
Of my weakened tell-tale heart.


Tom Chan
Missing Mikael
December 06, 2009


Tears are not Enough

Tears are not enough
Comforting words sound hollow
Promises of tomorrow fall short
Restless anguish fails to
Bring back a lifetime of
Relationship between father and son.

In the midst of my loss
Unimaginable pain
Unfathomable grief
I behold your radiant countenance
Smiling broadly into His.

I smile and shudder
To ever doubt that
His grace is more than enough
For here, now, and eternity.


Tom Chan
Missing Mikael
December 11, 2009


Tapestry

With dark yarn our life is cross-stitched
At the loss of our precious son
Who valiantly fought his demons
In a never-ending tunnel of darkness.

The Great Sadness descended
Freeze-wrapping my life from
Any hint of living and joy
In my solitary stumble through the dark night.

Zooming across the miles, we, the survivors,
Make desperate attempts to catch rays of the sun
Beams of the moon, sparkles of the stars
To weave our tapestry with heavenly colours
In celebrating the nuptial of one son
And sorrow’s end of another.


Tom Chan
December 23, 2009
Vancouver



Past Tense

Life lived in past tense
With was, did, and had been
Since you left.
Never-again haunts me
Since the Great Sadness descended.

My life on earth
Is in sepia black-and-white
Bled of living colours
Hollow of simple joy;
A dirge poorly sung
Out of tune and out of time.


Tom Chan
Mourning my son’s death
January 03, 2010



The Presence of Your Absence

Like a galloping nightmare
The presence of your absence
Haunts me
With muffled screams
Of pain and despair.

I cry out
Each waking moment of living
Wishing to be carried away
By the slumber of not-living
To where you are
In the presence of Eternal Goodness
In the absence of earthly sorrow.


Tom Chan
March 01, 2010
In missing my son


Spring Thaw

April is the cruellest month
When the red-and-white kayak
Crafted to glide fluidly on
The Assiniboine and the Red
Sits land-mired, tarped and held down
On a pair of saw-horses
In our side-yard.

Spring thaws
My broken-winged flight
Frozen in mid-life
As I prepare for my landing.
Will there be somebody
To catch me when I crash?


Tom Chan
Mourning my son, Mikael
March 22, 2010