Peak

The Caregiver Poet

This must be

the peak of my grief.

I can feel the summit beneath my feet.

To be woven

with another soul

for forty years,

to know the language

of our breath,

the quiet of their presence,

the way love settles

into the bones,

and then to watch

as time unravels them,

thread by thread,

through dementia, frailty,

And the slow dimming of a once-bright sky.

I cannot protect him.

I cannot call him back.

I can only visit—

bring my presence like

a small lantern,

sit beside him in the fading light,

and share what blessings remain

in this thinning world.

I believe—

no, I know—

that what binds us

is not confined to this body,

not held by memory’s failing gates.

That when he steps beyond,

our connection will deepen,

not disappear.

And still—

this rift,

this tearing away

from the earth we shared,

is vast.

It echoes through every ordinary moment,

every quiet space we once filled.

This must be

the peak of my grief.

And from here,

I can see

how deeply

I have loved

and been loved!

Cloudia Charters