It cut through the cool, quiet afternoon
with such intense clarity
that both the dogs and I stopped in our tracks
to look in the direction from where it came.
A woman’s voice
loud
low
anguished
cried out from a big house
down a small street
at the edge of town.
I knew almost instantly
it was not a cry for help
because I had rattled my own walls very recently
with similar sounds
when news of my mother’s death reached me
and I was forced to face it alone
thousands of miles from what once was home.
Instinctively I wanted to move toward her sorrow
offer comfort
offer company
but I knew such new pain
needed to be tempered with solitude
tears
time to process
and purge.
I looked up and down the streets
for someone
anyone
who might have heard her wails
and shared my heartache
as helpless witness
to such profound sadness.
But no one was about
just the dogs and me
and I suddenly felt intrusive
and newly stricken by my recent loss,
so on we moved
each step ushering its own fresh tears
coming stronger and stronger
as the sounds of her fierce despair
faded into the distance.
Her pain
is now entwined with mine
two unacquainted mourners
ever connected in our losses
in our sorrows.
Each time I pass her street
and recall her suffering
I feel her presence
(though a stranger to mine)
and am trusting time
has eased her pain
her tears
the grief.
Dog-eared Stories 