Funeral Blues

[Avalon]

On Thursday, May 27th, 2004, my beloved brother Jeff, died.
He had the flu on Monday; was worse on Tuesday and hospitalized Tuesday evening. I spent all day Weds. at the hospital and all night Weds. night. My brother died at 11:47 am, Thursday morning. A vibrant, healthy man gone in a blink of an eye.
He was 38 years old and has an 8 year old son. He was my best pal, my co-conspiritor, my partner in crime. His death has left a hole in my heart and in my life that will never heal. We spoke every day about nothing..just stuff. To think I will never hear his voice again or see his face at my door, brings me pain the likes of which I have never known.
How do people recover from a loss such as this? We were attached at the hip from the day of his birth. Through my first marriage and divorce and through his. Nothing ever came between the closeness we shared; the sick, twisted sense of humor that we both have, the passion for our children, or our sense of family. We could rag on each other, but no one else had better ever say anything. He was my staunchest defender and my biggest critic.
I do not blog; this is the only place I could vent. I apologize.

Jeff, this is for you. It is how I feel. They are not my words, but you will understand, I am sure. I will miss you everyday for the rest of my life. You were the best little brother, best friend, and best tormenter in history. You were a fantastic daddy to Jordan.

I will try to be strong for mom, Jordan and the rest of the family, but I will never be the same, ever. We all drew our strength from you.

I love you baby brother.
dlz

FUNERAL BLUES by W.H.Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.