‘Sitting Here’, ‘The Journey’ & ‘On the Day That You Died’

Heather Holland Wheaton is a writer, photographer, actor and tour guide. She’s the author of the short story collection, You Are Here and her work can also be found in Shooter Literary Magazine , Press Pause Press, Red Noise Collective, Slipstream, The Morning News and Every Day Fiction. She lives in Manhattan and will never leave.

Sitting Here 

I’m sitting here, 

in the home of the dead, 

among the tombstones of all those who went before me. 

Death takes so much more than just your loved ones, and it brings so much more 

than just pain and sorrow. 

Dread, Despair, Devastation — stab your heart relentlessly. Over and over and over again, 

until they take your will to live. 

Death brings grief, 

and leaves it with you. 

The grief that everyone is hiding, 

and you, yourself, will start to hide. 

We hide in dark corners, where no one can see us, trying to pretend 

we are stronger than we are, 

and maybe one day we will also believe it. 

Death is so definite, 

so final, 

so ruthless. 

I’m sitting here, 

in the sea of graves, 

in the silence of the dead, 

staring at the infiniteness of crosses, 

tired, exhausted, defeated. 

At my parents’ grave, 

on my birthday. 

All alone in my pain.

The Journey 

Far and wide through hell, 

Have I been since you 

So abruptly left me 

When I did not expect it. 

Not that you can be 

At any time prepared 

To meet someone else's death 

Knocking on your door. 

Crawled and crawled I have, 

With no end in sight, 

Relentlessly, through it, 

To get to the other side. 

All around was burning, 

Torturing my soul, 

Each flame engraving, 

A mark that stays forever. 

Sometimes it was easy, 

As the flames subsided, 

It would even appear, 

That the journey ended. 

But then again, they would 

Rage more brightly than before, 

Encircling around me, 

Torturing some more. 

Out of the exhaustion, 

From the endless road, 

I'd stumble, fall and break, 

In ways I never broke before. 

Yet the journey continued, 

As there is no other way, 

No other path i can take, 

To escape the wrath of hell. 

No one to put out 

The never-ending flames, 

Even if I'd wish so much 

For a saving hand. 

The road I have accepted, 

That I have to go on, 

Yet accept I still can't 

The reason for it all. 

The more I resist grief, 

The more it fights back, 

Until I learned to surrender, 

To the journey that is yet to come. 

Once in a while I 

Would step on a landmine, 

Making the flames shoot up

High in the bright sky. 

Then they'd stop completely, 

Giving me some breaks, 

And time to gather forces, 

To continue to walk ahead. 

Now that the road 

Seems to be soon over, 

I sit exhausted on the ground 

Looking all around me. 

Empty fields behind me, 

No life to be seen for miles, 

Orange dusty cloudless skies, 

The wind warming my face. 

I feel old and wise, 

Like I know Death’s secret, 

But that's foolish of me to think,

As Death itself is the unknown.

Now the flames are small, 

Sometimes they still pinch me, 

But at least I stand right up, 

And walk ahead fiercely. 

The pain is still the same 

Excruciating as it was, 

Right from the beginning, 

A time so long ago. 

It feels like I have lived 

An eternity of lives, 

Although it often seems 

That time is standing still. 

Sitting at the edge of hell, 

Feet dangling in the air, 

Wondering what's next, 

And what lies ahead. 

Hopefully less of this, 

And a lot more of that, 

Those periods of peace 

That soothe me from inside. 

As the tortures subside, 

And calmness comes my way, 

I can finally breathe again, 

Freely, greedily — enjoying the fresh air. With new incoming strength, 

I can look ahead, 

I can feel again, 

The will to live rushing through my veins. Gazing into the future, 

With some returning hope, 

Life does seem less gray,

As I’m finally able to cope.

On the Day That You Died 

On the day that you died 

All hope has gone with you 

Ripped out of my heart, 

Leaving nothing but emptiness instead. 

On the day that you died 

All happiness drained out, 

All traces of joy and laughter too, 

Have gone to the grave with you. 

So did the memories of you, 

Once healthy and strong, 

Went to a place 

Where I cannot reach them. 

All I can remember now, 

Is you sick and feeble, 

And then dead, 

Those images are engraved in my brain forever. How I miss you right now, 

And the memories I had of you 

I miss them dearly. 

Every single day 

I'm going back to before, 

To what I could have done differently, 

To maybe still have you here. 

How hard, excruciating it was 

To watch you die and stand there, 

By your side, unable to save you, 

As if I am all-mighty and have that power. 

From the day that you died, 

And even a little before, 

I've been visited by grief and its companions. They come and they go, again and again, 

Never quite leaving you, a never-ending cycle of hell. I learned to stop fearing them, 

To welcome them like an old friend, 

Because they still are a way to connect with you. One day I'll find the connection 

Not through pain and suffering, 

But, for now, I'll just have a little cry. 

On the day that you died 

Time stopped, and is still standing still, 

But somehow it does feel like an eternity has passed, Like I've lived a million lives. 

On the day that you died 

My whole world stopped, 

And it felt like it won't restart again. 

On the day that you died 

I became uprooted,

Losing connection to my ancestors, To who I was before. 

On the day that you died 

I lost myself, my purpose, 

My sense of being, 

I lost the one I used to be. 

On the day that you died 

I died a little too.

Tanya Moldovan started writing poetry after the loss of her mother. She's a new author and her poetry is grief and death related. She thinks death is universal experience and she hopes people from different corners of the world will be able to relate, find solace or take a glimpse at "the after death" experience.