Gissop wanders the hall
These halls as empty as his soul
Now that his wife has passed
It is all he can do to elude insanity
Though he tries to grieve,
The tears are more elusive than a timid leprechaun
Sleep is never forthcoming
Stopping at a faded wall painting,
Gissop studies the image of his wife
The full cheeks, soft auburn eyes, and pleasant lips
There is so much he lost when he lost her
Though there is a daughter, it isn't the same
A part of him is missing
He is determined to find it again
Taking up his pacing, he ends up in the living room
For a moment he sees her
Sitting on the sofa, reading a book
When he blinks, she is gone
He knows she will not be back
Through the kitchen and into the back yard
She isn't in the flower garden
The flowers are wilting in mourning
Autumn leaves fall like the tears that won't
Gissop knows he is in the autumn of his life
He isn't looking forward to the winter months ahead
The winter that started with his wife's death
Making his way to the sidewalk
He turns right and keeps going
Two blocks and a left has him at the gate
He grasps it shakily and pushes it open
With it, the floodgates open
A torrent of emotions is unleashed
Sorrow, grief, and loss cascade down
Gissop succumbs easily to the flood
Tears spill from his eyes
A falter of steps and a stifled whimper
A blessed relief from the constriction of denial
Yes, this has been painful
Yes, this hurt
Still, Gissop trudges forward
Each feeble step, a step toward mending
Four rows in, past the ancient oak tree
He approaches with longing
The earth above her is barely settled
Collapsing on his knees, he puts his hand out
Feeling only the cold hard ground
This is not where she was needed
This was not Gissop?s home
"When will I see you again?" he asks
There is no reply
"I don't know if I can carry on"
It is an hour more of wind chilled suffering
Twilight is fast descending
With a sigh, he leaves her resting place
Devoid of enthusiasm he makes his way back
"I'm back," he announces at the door
Frowning at his own echo
Shivering from the cold he decides on some tea
Absently making enough for two
Still weary from battling himself
Gissop makes his way to bed
Half expecting his wife to be waiting there
The loss is too recent to be ignored
His thoughts return to Lyla's grave
Where his wife and heart are buried
There is no need to set the alarm clock
He knows Lyla will wake him from his dreams
And beckon him to her side again

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