In Her Wake

In her wake,
tears welling up
as soon as I sit for a while
and hidden joy
of the enduring love
that binds me to her still.

In her wake,
regrets about times
when I did not love her well,
one, two, three, four and more;
wishing for a rewind button
that does not exist.

In her wake,
a renewed inspiration
to open the heart
when the mind thinks otherwise
and to not let my own wounded-ness
blind me to the possibility of love

In her wake,
many thoughts coming and going,
and the reminder to guard
from misguided sentimentality
and the easy temptation
to idealize the deceased.

In her wake,
recognizing as my own,
hindrances I used to see in her mostly:
attachment to material things,
chronic worrying about imaginary future
and love tainted with much clinginess.

In her wake,
awareness of impermanence
sinking more deeply;
even her whose life I took as a given
had to disappear, first in mind, slowly,
then in body, with the final exhale.

In her wake,
the reassurance that death can be sweet,
nothing to fear, only the mind's ideas
and our unwillingness to let go;
holding tight the comforting vision
of her surrender - much peace, much ease.

In her wake,
the determination to not let her terminated life,
every bit of it, go to waste.
Using all I learned from her, all she gave me,
to live each new moment more wisely, more kindly.
I used to call her Maman.