On Wednesday, July 17, I celebrated the life of Brandy Thuernagle, a sister in recovery. This is the poem I read for her service. As I was writing this, I didn't realize how close we really were, how well I knew her, how much our lives mirrored each other. This poem was a way of working through my own grief. It is said people are in our lives for a reason. Perhaps Brandy was in my life to show me how to cherish and capture the blessings we have before it is too late. To hold on to sobriety and grab on to the opportunities it offers as they come along. To all of those in my life that make it better, thank you. And to all of those who came along that gave me lessons and left, thank you. I am grateful for all the love I have to give.
Brandy, I loved you. Loved you like a sister. May your memory live on.
You Live On
It is a
Wednesday as I write this.
You died only a
few days ago.
Now whenever
someone speaks your name,
there is
silence.
That isn’t like
you,
to leave
something unsaid,
something
unexplained,
to let me get a
word spoken in response,
more than a
sentence said in reply
during the hour
we’d spend together.
the blue raised
3-lane track at the Y
in silence for
good,
with only my
tinnitus
and the
plodding of my steps for company.
No one to push
me, tell me I’m walking too slow,
talk in my ear rushed
emphatic words
of seemingly mundane
everyday things—
parts of life in
small detail.
Now the two
sobriety chips you gave me
to hold until
you get better
will go
unearned, will clink together
and sit on my
shelf, ownerless.
You struggled
so hard
to smooth your
rough edges
and work away
your pain;
there is a
solace in knowing
your struggle
is finally over,
that now you no
longer
fight your
demons.
Today tears
fall at work
so I have to
walk to the pond
beyond our
building
to hear the
bullfrogs talk to each other,
and there’s
this small black birdup on the wire
following me.
She won’t keep
quiet,
keeps chirping
in what sounds like
But but but
see
and flies above
me the entire time,
hopping from
wire to wire above me,
calling out “But
but but see”,
never letting
go of her call,
never keeping
silent.
Seems you’ve
sent a message,
kept me company
out here afterwards
after all.
Tonight I will
sit on my steps
in the backyard
beside potted plants,
and notice
that, where a squirrel
had unearthed
and broken a
hackberry
seedling, leaving a mere twig
in soil, there
now grows a new
small green
leaf: new life.
Where death
seemed certain,
life appeared.
And I know when
I look at your daughter—
though you are
gone, your love shines
through her
eyes.
Where death
seems certain,
you live on.
You live on,
in the chips we
give each other for sobriety,
in the birds
that sing,
in the plants
that send out new leaves,
in the eyes of
your daughter.
You live on
because we do,
because we
remember you.
May God call
your spirit home.
May you finally
rest.
You were loved,
my friend.
You were loved,
and you live on.
*****
by Tansy Julie
the Soaring Eagle Paschold
aka Julie S.
Paschold
author of Horizons
& You Have Always Been Here
July 10, 2024