The Pallbearer

Carrying heartbreak

At first I'd ask, want to know everything,
age, sex, how they died,
not now though.
Now I just do as I'm bid, what I'm paid for,
carry, place, respectfully nod, then leave.
I find it's easier that way,
don't take them home with me
to think about them, their lives
and the sadness they've left behind.
That is unless it's a wee one.
It's different then.
The small, pristine white wooden shrouds
adorned with soft toys, flowers, tears,
they always come home, are adopted for life,
making for fitful sleep, tossing, turning,
and solemn, sober reflection in the small hours.
The wife tells me I care too much, am too soft,
that despite my size I am more mother hen than pallbearer.
I guess she's right, she usually is.
I smile at this thought and try to switch off.

Author's Note

Just for the record I am not a pallbearer, just imagining the emotions they must go through or try to block out.

Reviews

[Norman 223]

Adapting to such an environment is not easy initially, as I learned when I became a Medical Photographer" and faced with post mortem investigations.
Switching off, " is not being callous, but is essential if you are not going to become a "casualty" yourself. Respect does not have to suffer, though.
Your poem expresses this beautifully.
Norman

[Gee]

Thank you Norman

[X]

Oh Gee Whiz what a whopper of a poem from a place rarely viewed. It takes a special person to carry the weight and pain of others and only a heart the size of the universe can nestle the small ones inside. Lucky is the wife of such a tender loving man :)

[Gee]

Good morning Kira. Not a job I would be able to do as If be a blubbering wreck :)
Thank you for your kind words

[X]

Good morning Gee...hope you have a blessed beautiful day🌞🌻🎶

[John Alexander McFadyen]

An interesting delve into the psyche of those who literally carry the weight as this first person account expresses the mechanisms used when dealing with death but that even so such people are not immune. A sensitive and nicely penned voice.

[Gee]

Thanks John.
Hope you are all well.

[Gee]

Thanks John.
Hope you are all well.

[emmajoy]

Not easy, never is.. the loss of any life is pain with a capital P... the loss of a child or the thought of his-her absence is hell wrapped in a soft gossamer blanket.

Beautiful sadness, Gee.. memorable and more. Empathy is your middle name, sir.

[Gee]

Just a big old softy:)
I find it much easier to deal with loss/grief when it is my own, watching others suffer tears at my heart.
Hope you are keeping well and catching enough zeds

[Gee]

Oops, thank you

[Maxwell Ryder]

Gee, what got you thinking about this one? Cheers

[Gee]

God only knows Maxwell. Perhaps a foreboding to my old mum dying in April !
Cheers

[Maxwell Ryder]

Sorry to hear it. Maxwell

[Wesley Dingler]

Gee you've done it again. You reeled me in with your pen.
I was a pallbearer but in North America it's not a job it's and honor and a privilege.
I loved the scheme of this verse all the same.
Thanks my friend.


Wes

[Gee]

Cheers Wesley and good on ya for pallbearing

[Ana Papaya]

Well you had me convinced Gee. That you actually are.
I love your gift for being able to step into someone else's shoes.
You're high on the empathy scale i reckon.
Well written poem.

[Gee]

Lol, don't know about that, would be nice to be :)

[Gee]

Oops, how rude. Thank you

[Ana Papaya]

plus you have good manners

[Gee]

My old mums teaching and a hankering for common decency make for a semi mannerable old fella :))

[Beccy]

'It's different then.' Those three words cut deep, show us the depth of your poem, the depth of silent grief that such an occupation walks shoulder to shoulder with.

I had never thought about it in such a way before reading this; it has changed my perspective.

Beccy.

[Gee]

Hi Beccy, not a job I could do as I'm far to soft.
Hope is all well with you both.
Thank you

[kentuck14]

Gee,
Your poetry hits real life. I'm assuming in the UK being a pallbearer is a job?
This topic seems to be on your mind lately. Reading a book by Julian Barnes about his dealing with the subject of death as an agnostic. Interesting read. And so is yours.
Tom

[Gee]

Thanks Tom...

[RoxyMonoxide]

Firstly let me say thank Ok I for your review of my poem 'My Lovers Lie'. I really hope it helps your friend who is going through a bitter divorce to understand that some men are just self interested dishonest prick. By the way, if you couldn't tell, the 'fearful lie' is I Love You.

Second let me congratulate you on the empathy your displayed in this poem, putting yourself in the shoes of a working class worker with such a solenm job.

O really enjoyed the vaulta (shift in tone in a poem) half way through the text when the child or babies funeral is considered. The line 'I am more mother than pallbearear' eschews traditional gender roles, and speaks to a sensitive man who connot leave the tragedy of his job that day at work.

Really well done.

[Gee]

Thank you for reviewing Roxy

[RoxyMonoxide]

You're welcome. I really enjoyed the empathy you displayed. Keep up the good work.