Always In My Prayers

In quiet times when I am not occupied

My mind flashes to visions of your distress.

I cannot envision the horror that befell you;

I do not want to understand the mind responsible.

You sat in wont of food, basic nourishment.

The aroma of that which was placed before you

Wafted upward to tease and to torture you

As you were unable to make your body move.

It could not reach out to the plate to feed itself.

You looked to the person who sat across from you,

The person to whom you had given your all . . .

To the point of cessation of your own being.

He sat consuming his food, feeding his body—

The very same food that your body hunger for to live.

As he finished, he rose and you prayed that he feed you,

But all he did was remove his plate . . . then yours.

Arguing semantics, he can say that he fed you

Though he really did not . . . nor has he ever.

For he has starved you all your married life—

Never caring to feed you emotionally or spiritually.

And he, to whom you had given your all,

Went about his merry way, seeing only to his selfish routine.

As you sat in death’s grip unable to speak for yourself

He did little more than complain of a dip in the market.

Now you lie in a foreign bed so very much alone:

Fetal position, feeding tube—Family has come and gone.

You are now surrounded by the sterility of nothingness—

The shell that once held great promise has been deserted.

But your husband, the one to whom you had given your all,

Brags of how he has cared, of how happy you have been.

For all who will listen he boasts of his great love for you

And even of how you and he made love . . . to the end.

Made love, indeed!  The person to whom you had given your all

Starved you, used your body for self-gratification, even to the last!

Such total egocentricity!  Such abhorrent, deviant behavior!

No food!  No water!  No nurturing!  But alas and yes!  Sex!

God forbid that he go without having his sordid needs met.       

So now I sit staring across the table at my husband, your son

Reflecting on his treatment of me through our married years

Realizing that he has learned all to well his father’s lessons.

There truly is a redemptive aspect to the suffering around us.

In yours I have come face to face with my bleak future with him.

Through your pain I necessarily find strength to change my future.

With your final image as my beacon, I shall break free and survive.

Charlie Frémaux

09/22/00

Coda: [Virginia] died, alone in a nursing home 23 October 2000—her husband chose not to honor her life with any sort of service—all but her youngest son (on whose birthday she died) supported the decision.  Her remains were disposed of as expeditiously, as inexpensively as possible, being cremated three days later.