Post by Paige Matthews on Jul 17, 2007 10:55:22 GMT -5
Paige didn't move from underneath her covers all day. Voices came and gone between those few hours untill finally they gave up. Henry's pictures, things and smell filled the room. Under the covers Paige could smell his aftershave of which he always smelt. Everything about him reminded her of him. She was propably on her fourth stage of grief one she stayed on for a very llong time. Maybe forever. She remebered denying it, then she rembered angry and even bargaining with the elders untill she reached this. The Kübler-Ross model was defiantly right.
It was nearly seven at night when Paige sat up and looked around. She remembered her husband's last words to her, his last kiss right before he died. Tears never seemed to dry up when she relived those memories.
''Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good. '' Paige read the poem in her head, the one she read on Henry's funeral. He was never coming back, she'd never see him again. He would never come in this room again or grumpily wake up in the morning for his police shift. She pushed back her usually tidy hair which today was tangled and complete mess. Finally she got up and stared into the eyes of her reflection in the mirror. They say ghosts appear in mirrors.
It was nearly seven at night when Paige sat up and looked around. She remembered her husband's last words to her, his last kiss right before he died. Tears never seemed to dry up when she relived those memories.
''Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good. '' Paige read the poem in her head, the one she read on Henry's funeral. He was never coming back, she'd never see him again. He would never come in this room again or grumpily wake up in the morning for his police shift. She pushed back her usually tidy hair which today was tangled and complete mess. Finally she got up and stared into the eyes of her reflection in the mirror. They say ghosts appear in mirrors.
