Confirmation carry uniform

Christmas Eve.
They knocked the door at four AM.
Police, a man, a woman
“May we come in?”

I knew before they said his name,
it’s been too long since last
(we talked)
goodbyes was said in absence.
Confirmation always carry uniform.

I remember how the Christmas Tree
was black that year,
and the Tsunami.

Torn Spruce by Jamie Wyeth

This is based on a true memory. On the morning of Christmas Eve 2004 the police came to inform us that my father in law had been found dead in his home. We have not had a Christmas tree since then.

Linking up to Tuesday platform @toads, since it’s 55 words I also link to hedge this week.

February 11, 2018

21 responses to “Confirmation carry uniform

  1. Oh, Björn. Such a difficult, difficult memory. You’ve very much captured the pain and shock that must have filled your hearts, and done so in a quiet, profound way.

  2. oh, that’s sad. That’s a hard way to find out.
    (my likes aren’t sticking today. No clue why. I also put a like on the poem — although it’s hard to put like for something that’s sad. Maybe the button should say “appreciate”. If you don’t see the like, it didn’t stick. I noticed it didn’t stick on the cloud poem that I read earlier)

  3. That it a hard one. Was it the year of the Tsunami in Thailand or Japan. I think the Thai one was at Christmas if I remember correctly. Loss is hard under normal circumstances but like that…ouch.

  4. Festivals always carry the sad reminder of those who are no longer there to celebrate with the family. Loss falls hard at certain times of the year.

  5. kaykuala

    A broken tree stump is so symbolic of the loss and sadness that would result. You’ve a way of presentation, Bjorn, always!


  6. This is sad, Bjorn. Especially with the addition of your footnote. I do hope that again soon you will find some joy in Christmas, perhaps commemorated and renewed with an honor to your FIL.
    Bless you guys, a daughter’s love for her father is powerful, his life deserves celebration. Mrs. Jim also reminds me of the date of her father’s death when it comes. It isn’t a holiday or a special day except to us and her sister and hers. God made us to outlive our parents.

  7. This is a poem of memory that reads like a dream, and such moments do have a dream/nightmare quality to them, where one waits to wake up, but doesn’t. I feel your tsunami, Bjorn, in more ways than one. Thanks for sharing this with the 55.

  8. How sad the memory that writes your words Björn.
    Loss of a loved one is always painful, but especially so around the Christmas period when we expect nothing but happiness.
    The celebration always impacts on our memories after…

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