Compassion, Winter 2021

Winter 2021 - Compassion | www.tcf.org.uk 23 This poem was written in the lead up to the fifth anniversary of the loss of our son, Timothy, who took his own life, aged 26. We had his body cremated, which I now regret; I would very much like to have a grave to visit. I meditate regularly and focus on self-compassion. I externalise my compassion, and have begun to think of that externalisation as two angels. One guards my back, and the other is a guide in front of me. Take Me Instead Today, every bone in my body aches with the loss of my son. I wish my bones had been burned to ash, not his. He was flesh of my flesh Yet demons could invade him and not me They could pour their poison into his very soul. They killed him And they did not hear me say, ‘Take me instead’ ‘Take me instead’ I ask myself, ‘Where have I not forgiven?’ And the answer comes back, too loud and frightening Myself, myself. A confused hurt threatens to engulf me. It is guilt, but am I not innocent? The angels tell me not to punish myself But how can I not? I failed as a parent I failed I failed And failed. The angels stay in their quiet stillness. They are kind. They understand. They are compassion itself. They know That there is nothing to forgive. There is nothing to forgive. There is only the day ahead, With its chores, and its pleasures. Yes, its pleasures. Alice Onion