Astronomy Picture of the Day
July 11, 2014

In Loving Memory
In Loving Memory

Title: Late Light; Credits: Unknown


Today, one year ago, at 02:05 Central Europe Time, my beloved Wife and Companion, Ginny Lynn Gilbreath (born in Austin, Texas - USA - on December, 11th, 1964), died, after six months of agony and many years of - sometimes - unspeakable pain and suffering. She left this World with Dignity, in her sleep, leaving me the "burden" to go on, alone, through this Life.


Many things have changed in just one year, but one thing did not, and never will: my True, Pure and Endless Love for a Creature who deserved a lot, and, instead and unfortunately, received only a little of happiness and peace during Her "Earthly Passage".


I dedicated the poem that follows ("The Black Overcoat") to Her, Her Memory, and Her Sacrifice, with the deep and boundless Hope that, some day, one day, we shall meet again. Somewhere else, in this or, maybe, another Universe, or even beyond both of Them...


May the Lord give Peace to Her Soul.


Amen.


Dr Paolo C. Fienga (PhD)


The Black Overcoat (To My Wife, Ginny)


 


 


I was able to see Her, even from far away: standing still in the Sun, with her Black Overcoat,


While she was waiting for somebody, but locked-up in Her Silence, and lost, in that moment


And with Her naked face, marked by a long disease, which, you know, never leaves a way out,


And Her head, naked too, shining so white and bright, in the warm Sun of those days of May...


 


But She never changed, when I went to that House, full of a cold and silent Emptiness,


The House where a thousand, and already hopeless Souls, were waiting for a decent End,


I got close to Her, almost afraid, right after having driven through the surrounding fields,


And then I made it to that parking lot, always full of cars, and yet always full of Silence...


 


She never changed: Her look was always lost in the distance, but Her eyes were wide open;


Her face was so cold, and tight, and deeply signed, by one hundred years' old wrinkles,


But She stood up, still, while the Wind was passing over Her face and Her pale forehead,


Like a Statue of Ice which, quietly, waits for an inevitable Fate, that is now going to come...


 


When I was close enough, I smiled, and then I was unable to take my eyes off of Her:


I could not look at that grimace, painted on Her lips, in a style that I had never seen before,


And obscured, by that Black Overcoat, which helped Her to hide the Wounds of a Lifetime;


She stood still, waiting for me, and She only moved when I was only one step away from Her...


 


Everything comes back, in this indefinable Existence: everything comes back, and becomes clear,


Even all those images that I guess I've never seen, but which were hidden, deep inside myself,


Now show and reveal themselves, for what they really were, for what their Nature really was;


Everything comes back to me, finally, in this windy day, that I spend alone, with my memories...


 


And what is left, now, my Lord and Savior, of the moments lived in the Hope of a New Day?


What is left of the laughing, and crying, and of all those long races toward some Hospital?


And where are gone, my Lord, the endless Prayers that I made, constantly, all along this Time,


Prayers which remained unanswered, or perhaps forgotten, in Your Boundless Light?


 


Only a Black Overcoat that, now covered by dust and memories, hides in the closet;


Like some sort of Shroud, but always wore with Dignity, even when the Weight was too much;


A Black Overcoat, that reminds me of Her Face, white and exhausted, staring at that Life


That was just slipping away, so fast, through the hours that signed Her very last steps...


 


And it shall be that Black Overcoat, the one I will wear, on my back, for the Time that is left:


Knowing well that my regrets, and remorse, and Love, will never make its color any different.


I know that a Black Overcoat, will always be with me, forever, even when my sacrifice shall vanish,


Just like dust, swept away by the wind; just like Prayers, lost in the spires of a very short Life...



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