A Good Day to Die
by Lola Rice Cain
It was a good day to die
Spring had just brought new life:
Trees were leafing out
Birds were singing
The grass was green
And hope for new beginnings was alive
But not for her
It was a good day to die
Life for her had lost meaning
She was unable to see her purpose
She gave up on life prematurely
And in choosing death she gave up on herself
And on my siblings and me
She chose that day as her goodbye
It was a good day to die
A day that poured pain into many lives
A day that left sorrow in its wake
A day that would never be forgotten
A day that ended her personal losses
And became the start of ours
A self-absorbed day that is cemented in memory
But for her it was apparently a good day to die
And the fallout of her choice?
We’ve become more resilient
We are more tolerant and stronger
Than we would have been
Had we never endured that pain
Still, for us, it was not a good day for her to die
Written October 31, 2021 in memory of Nellie Nina Scott Rice, mother to Duane, Ken, Lola, and Gary, who committed suicide April 3, 1953, at the age of 37. Forever missed. Forever in our hearts. Forever loved.
GRIEF
Lola Rice Cain
Grief is love poured out as the final act of care
It washes over me in unwelcome waves of sorrow
Subsides momentarily, then blindsides me again and again,
Mercilessly hammering at my consciousness
And intruding into my attempts at slumber.
Grief is love in its final earthly form
A painful reenactment of all that came before
It oozes through my every pore
And is the assailant at my heart’s door
It refuses to disappear, but is slowly being subdued.
Grief is love unleashed in ways I could never have conceived
And I must allow it its time as there is a time to grieve
Even so, as it flows in and out of my awareness
I find respite in memories that make their way
Through the fog of the pain – and I will live to love.
(Written November 28, 2021)
Usually my remembrance day of my bio mother's death is limited to April 3. I do not recall what was happening in 2021 that made it pour over, but the October 31 poem makes me think that the November 28 poem was likely connected, but most likely connected to another death that triggered the memory.