“I can't do this. I can't,” she said exasperated. She crumbled up the paper she'd written and threw it in the trash. Sitting at her desk, she stared at her pink bedroom wall. A tear escaped her eye. ”Why me! Why did she have to ask me to write a poem for the funeral. Me, the poet... I can't. I just can't. I don't even want to. I just want to mourn normally like everyone else. It's too late for me to help her now.” She pounded her fist on the desk before her. Pulling out another sheet of paper, she began writing angrily.
“A bleeding heart. A Shooting dart
and I forgot to do my part.
And if I had, we wouldn't be sad
and Linda's life might be so glad.
I hate this life. I hate this strife.
I hate my failure even to write.”
Then she took a red pen and began scribbling over the words she'd just written. Fresh warm tears streamed down her cheeks. “The funeral is tomorrow,” she whispered. “My heart feels raw. The pain is too deep.”
She picked up her phone and dialed her best friends mother, “Hi, Mrs Insper, This is Tracey.”
“How are you,” she asked weakly, with a slight quiver in her voice.
“Not good,” replied Tracey trying to gain control over her emotions.
Mrs Insper, took a deep breath. “We'll get through this Tracey.”
“I'm too hurt.”
“Though the pain is raging, life goes on. Linda would want us to go on.”
“I can't” Stacey cried losing control.
“See the pain Linda has caused. Yet she never meant to hurt anyone. She just wanted to end her own pain. Now we are wounded cause we loved her so much....Excuse me for a moment.”
The line was quiet as they both silently wept.
Mrs Insper continued, “When one takes there own life, there's no greater pain to those who loved them. And though they may think their life is worthless, in truth, their life is priceless to the people they will reach, create or touch in some special way. Linda didn't know this. I wish I'd told her before. But I can tell you now. There's always hope, though you can't see it. There's always people who your life is priceless to.”
“How can I write a poem for tomorrow.”
“Tracey, you must. You were her best friend. She loved your poems, stories and letters. God will inspire you. Just trust Him.”
“But my poems, my stories and my letters didn't save her life... Perhaps some of my sad poems... written in depression... may have contributed to what she did. I'm not the one for this.”
“Tracey, you are the only one for this. Don't look to yourself. Look to God. If our precious Linda would have looked to God, she would have found the hope she needed to go on.... Tracey, there's so many other Linda's out there. Give them hope. It doesn't have to be beautiful. It doesn't have to be the best. It just has to get the message across. Give somebody the hope to go on in the midst of their grief. Give me that hope. You can do this with God's help.”
“Okay Mrs. Insper, It may not be the best though. Please don't be disappointed. I'm just so hurt right now.”
“I know Tracey, we all are. But you can do this.
“What if it's really bad.”
“I'll be glad you gave it your best shot. I'll be glad her best friend wrote a poem for her funeral. I'll be glad you had the guts to write during this time. Just write with God.”
“Thanks,” said Tracey as she hung up the phone and stared at the wall thinking. The poems she'd written were all so sad, but Linda had loved them, even memorized them. If only they'd given more hope.
Then she knelt down on her knees and prayed, “God, I'll no longer write without You. I want my writings to make a difference and change lives. Forgive me for forsaking You. I need You. Please help me write a poem for Linda's funeral. A poem that will bring hope to all those there.”
There was not a dry eye at Linda's funeral. But no one ever forgot the hope that Tracey's poem brought. It focused on the meaning of life and helping others. It was entitled, “Though the Pain is Waging, Life Goes On.”
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