Living with AIDS
Dying of AIDS
Being remembered
Our Son
Utmost Helplessness
A Little
A Smiling Face
Nights
A Father's Heart
A Fighter
Doomed to Die
Your Stubborn Soul
No Hope
Watching You Die
Dried Rose
Three years
What You Could Have Accomplished
We'll Always Remember
Anniversary
Remembering You
Five Years Ago
Face in a Passing Wheelchair
Mail to Our Dead Son
Hope -- Only for Others!
Kinetic Sculpture
Memories of You
Merry Christmas???
His Birthday
Your Grave
Going through the Stuff You Left behind
© 1988 – 2001 by Hans U. D. Wiesendanger
Our Son
So full of life
But doomed to die young,
A piece of us
Our son
Our son
So full of promise
But never will it blossom
Our joy foreclosed
Our son
So full of love
For ever to remember
The love of us
Our son
The Utmost Helplessness
To hear our son telling us
He is at peace with the certainty of dying soon
Is being hit by a tidal wave
With torrents of mind numbing emotions
Buffeting us this way and that,
Choking our breath, a vise clamping our chest
That will not loose
Driving rivers of tears through our brain.
The utmost helplessness we ever felt.
We don't know how on earth we can cope.
Will life return? Will peace find our heart
Today or tomorrow or ever?
And will we be able to laugh
In some new future? Will our life go on
While his is blown out
Like a candle blown out in the wind?
We must forget our cross:
His is much bigger; his load is unbearably hard
For him to bear with his waning strength.
Yet he goes on living with purpose,
Taking each day as it comes,
Maintaining dignity up to the last
As best as he can.
May his heart find peace in our love.
A Little Hope
I think of death a lot these days,
Of God's unfathomable ways,
Of pain and sorrow, love and tears
And wonder if he really hears
I think of love a lot these nights
When all is still and out the lights.
When love my loved one can't protect
He'll face his agonies direct.
I think of him when I am lying
Awake in bed and know he's dying.
And yet I know I have to cope
And so grope for a little hope.
A little hope to soothe his pain,
A little hope to ease his strain,
A little hope to see him live
And perish the alternative!
A Smiling Face
A quiet life is what I lead
People would say, I guess,
But deep inside I ache and bleed
From hidden pain and stress.
A cheerful front's what people see.
They never would believe
That there is so much pain in me,
That underneath I grieve.
A smiling face is what I show
To mask my inner pain
But, in my gut, I really know
I must try to keep sane.
So smile I will, smile while I can,
Suppress all inner strife,
Deny how troubled, sad I am
And go on with my life!
Nights
How often do I wake up and cry
In the middle of the night
And wonder why
I'm filled with fright?
How often do I feel my life's in vain
When I cannot help my son
To ease his pain?
It can't be done.
How often do I wake up and pray
For my son that he may heal
And that he may
Know how I feel.
A Father's Heart
What volume has a father's heart
For grief,
adversity and pain?
What can it take, and what will start
It flowing over under strain?
How rugged is a father's mind
When beaten, stressed, devoid of hope,
When hurt, despair and sadness grind
Him down and make it hard to cope?
How much pain must a father stand
Because his son is struck with AIDS?
Who'll grieve with him, give him a hand
When utter hopelessness pervades?
Who can repair a father's heart
And who can ease its searing pain
When finally it breaks apart
Because it knows hope is in vain?
A Fighter
My son is a fighter. That's why he's alive,
Refusing to die on AIDS' terms;
He'll struggle, resist, battle, fight and connive
To beat all the HIV germs.
My son is persistent. He never will quit
Although there's no reason for hope.
He will overcome and put up with all shit;
Whatever comes up, he does cope.
My son is a hero, courageous, unsung,
His character's set, strong and clear.
In wisdom he's old though in years he is young,
Refined by discomfort and fear.
My son's a good human to love and respect
For living with purpose and zest;
He's just skin and bones but his posture's erect,
Courageously facing each test.
My son is alive and refuses to break.
How long he may live we don't know.
We're learning from him that ,whatever's at stake,
Keep pushing as far's you can go!
Doomed to Die
Although he's young and doomed to die
His life has meaning, purpose, goals.
His life is precious and his spirits high
And what he can, his will controls.
Adversity he knows in all
Its variations. Forced to bear
Indignities, pains, tortures large and small
With fortitude, without despair,
He lives with purpose, even zest,
Enjoys small pleasures when he can.
And labors hard to always make the best
Of what he faces like a man.
We all should look at life like he,
To make the most of it right now.
With such resolve and with such strong esprit
We would be better off, somehow!
Your Stubborn Soul
Even though you die young
Your life is not in vain.
We all have learned from you
By sharing in your pain.
Even if you can't claim
Great deeds of much import,
Your life is not in vain
Even if it's cut short.
Even if you can't see
Why we'd be proud of you:
You've taught us all to be
Persistent, strong, and true.
Even if you must leave
This world and all its dole,
When left alone to grieve
We’ll miss your stubborn soul!
No Hope
Knowing that there is no hope
We get used to, since we must,
And we learn that we must cope
And in God his future trust.
Comes a time when he feels better,
Eating well and gaining weight,
Active like a young jet-setter,
Seeming to recuperate.
Hope rekindles like a flower
Blooms when after draught comes rain,
But our prayers lack all power
And he falls to hell again.
Budding hope is dashed to bits
And we're back to sadness, gloom,
At the far end of our wits,
Downed by the impending doom.
Watching You Die
Holding your hand
I watch you die
Drawing your last
And labored breath
Slipping away
No longer here
Leaving behind
Body and life
Your pain now gone
Resting in peace
Leaving behind
This father's heart
Filled to the brim
With the absence
Of your dear soul
I can't let go
Yet of your hand
Still feeling warm
but bound to cool
And then get cold
While mine stays warm
Dried Rose
Dead and completely dry
But not decayed, not sagging
Upright, enduring
Stands the rose,
Cut off your bush
In glorious beauty,
But now a shadow
Of its former glory
No longer living
But still hanging on,
Wanting to be remembered
For what it used to be:
As I remember you
Three Years
Three years ago, we watched you die.
It took a day, that's all.
We couldn't even say goodbye;
There was no way to stall.
Your didn't have to suffer much
And you were not awake.
We don't know if you felt our touch
And felt our hearts a-quake.
In just one everlasting day
You left this humankind
And slowly, slowly slipped away...
But leaving us behind!
What You Could Have Accomplished
Three years ago we watched you lying
Still in your bed, as you were dying,
Holding your hands as they grew colder
Till finally your life was ended,
Your soul eternally suspended.
And suddenly we felt much older.
For three years now, we've lived without you
But every day we think about you
And what you could and would have been.
Your gifts and talents, how they would have
Blossomed and flowered, what you could have
Accomplished to be loved and seen.
We’ll always Remember
More than three years have passed since in our arms you died,
Having decided that you'd suffered enough pain
And wanted now to die with dignity and pride
Instead of being nursed to suffering again.
And not one day has passed I didn’t think of you,
Living tenaciously, although there was no hope
Through all adversity, to your own being true:
If no one else
endured, it would be you who'd cope!
And not one day will pass that I would not recall
Your stubborn will to live with dignity and zest,
To live life to the hilt, inspiring me and all
That for your sake we must all do our best
Anniversary
With Christmas passed, the day comes near
That our son died 4 years ago,
An anniversary we fear
Which sinks our spirits very low.
For him it was a great relief
To end his suffering and pain.
For us, it's never ending grief
And sad and lonely we remain.
Yet, it's a comfort to recall him
His character, his love, his care
And though we knew what would befall him
We're thankful we could give him care.
We live our own lives day to day.
If he can see us, he'll be glad
That we are finding our own way
To cherish what, in him, we had.
Remembering You
It's years ago that you lay dying
And left us all behind.
So many tears we have been crying.
You're always on our mind:
If we see beauty, we recall how
You would have loved it and enjoyed.
But we can't see such joy at all, now
That your short life has been destroyed.
If we see sickness, we remember
How sick you were, in how much pain
Until one day in late December
You died and left us to complain.
If we see others that must suffer
We think of you, how you were coping,
How with persistence you grew tougher,
And strong against all odds kept hoping.
If we see others doomed to die
Our hearts are with them in their sorrow
But it will be for you we cry
As yesterday, today, tomorrow.
Five Years Ago
Five years ago this day, he died
The hardest day we ever had
But we do know, deep down inside,
He would not want us to be sad.
Five years ago, we're left behind
To live without him evermore
But in our memory we find
His smiles that we used to adore.
Five years ago, his life ebbed out
While ours keeps going on for now.
If he could see us, there's no doubt
He'd say we shouldn't cry, somehow
Your Face in a Passing Wheelchair
Today I saw your haggard face
Skin stretched tight over bones
Etched deep with pains and groans
But radiant with inner grace
Young man in wheelchair riding by
Legs thin with knobby knees
Stamped by your dread disease
His body week but spirits high
So much to bear, so much to fight
In that face to be seen
Gray skin but eyes serene
A sad yet an inspiring sight
Mail to Our Dead Son
Though almost six years since you died,
We still get mail addressed to you
From people who want verified
Your current address, what you do.
Wanting to sell you, send your money,
You'll like their wares, they're sure you will.
For us, it isn't very funny;
It makes us miss you harder, still.
Hope -- Only for Others!
The scientists have toiled with dedication
And found, researched, prepared new medication
But they are years too late for you.
When you were ill, there was no hope
You knew you'd die; you had to cope
And there was nothing we could do.
You lived to wait for early death
And suffered hard with every breath
In sadness and in constant pain.
But now, for others hope's arisen
That they may heal and shed their prison
And live a normal life again.
O how we wish you still were here
To share new hope and lose old fear,
To live again in normal bliss.
But you're long gone. We're left without you
And we can only think about you,
Part of our life we'll always miss.
Kinetic Sculpture
Kinetic Sculpture, quiet motion
Its clamshells turning in the breeze
Soothingly and with steady ease
Like ripples in life’s pulsing ocean.
Reminding us of him, departed
After long years of agony, despair.
With only memories to share
Our lonely lives now heavy-hearted.
We sit and watch the sculpture swaying
If he were here, he would approve
And love to see it slowly move.
We think of him and do our praying.
Memories of You
Time to be happy, to be sad?
This is your birthday but you’re dead.
It was a short life that you had
Before you died in your sickbed.
We’re sad you’re not with us these days
To share our joys. You made us proud!
Your talents shone in many ways,
Your mind and art richly endowed.
Years have passed since you died, and yet
We think of you most all our days
We’re sure we never can forget
Your love and charm and caring ways.
Our hurt of missing you is deep;
Unlike you, it will never die
And memories is all we keep
As days, months, years are passing by.
Merry Christmas???
Our merry Christmas will be sad
When thinking of the son we had
Whom we now have no more.
You still have me; I still have you,
So there’s no reason to be blue
Or let our hearts be sore.
We still have family and love
And good friends when push comes to shove.
For him, it was a great release.
You know he’d want his mom and pappy
To think of him and to be happy.
Although we miss him, he’s at peace.
His Birthday
His birthday is tomorrow.
Eight years ago he died.
Our life is full of sorrow
For him we’ve cried and cried
His birthday we’ll remember
To our own dying days
Twenty ninth of December
Is when we parted ways
His birthday has much meaning
Memories never dim
The family convening
To think with love of him
In one late Christmas season
He left this world of strife
His birthday is a reason
To celebrate his life
Your Grave
Broad bands of breakers rolling in
White curly foam absorbed in sand
White seagulls overhead all lolling in
The easy breeze above the sunbright strand
Far out some fishing boats a-gliding
Hard to discern their steady motion
Close in a surfer on a wavetop riding
Serenity of peaceful ocean
Your ashes in this sea were cast
Dropped from a plane into a wave
No future for you -- only past
The sea your vast eternal grave.
Sorting through the Stuff You Left behind...
Sorting through the boxes, folders, other stuff you left behind
Sketches, photos, paintings, writings, records here of every kind
All the things you made, created, shaped, described and left I find
And it blows my mind
O what memories of you such sifting through your artworks brings
I recall in many cases just when you did make those things
Stirred emotions feelings outcries pains glows tremors whisperings
Memory that stings
© 1983-2001 by Hans U. D. Wiesendanger