Ticking time stood frozen
like razor icicles on the church’s eaves,
snow that bent the ancient trees.
We stood as shadows in that blank white space,
stone monuments with somber face.
All sound absorbed by mist and freshly fallen frost,
left us alone to contend with crushing thoughts
of the woman whom we lost.

And so, we suffered the most relentless hour.
Tears that fell and quickly froze
became glittering gems in still repose
on the freshly uncovered soil below.

Voices waft through biting breeze,
“There was nothing you could do.”
But yet, how could I miss the clues?
In retrospect, they feel as clear
as the cracks in clouds now cobalt blue
with threads of sunlight leaking through.
I’ve been taught the steps to diagnose,
yet blind to signs in ones held close.

Now flash-bulb branded in my mind
is an acronym in glaring font.
At brunch, once supple cheeks were gaunt,
and then messages were left on read.
Tsunami of ruminations on what was left unsaid,
“Am I a hypocrite, oh Hippocratic oath?
How do I expect to care for others
when I couldn’t save surrogate mother?”

Pugnacious thoughts came like the tide,
waxing, waning in rhythmic time.
But on this winter day, violent then sublime,
lucidity did flood my mind.

Deceitful blame will try to haunt you, cloud your memories, paralyze your passion,
drain blood from your face, left ashen.
Every misfortune comes with burdensome cost,
yet there’s a hidden strength to gain from loss.
Like the years of damage from the storm
and the miracle that you were born.
Anguish juxtaposing splendor.

If life were painless, would it be worth living?
Perhaps I should be as forgiving
on myself as I am on others.
Reminded it’s a privilege not to be numb, but still, to feel,
and in medicine, as in life,
sometimes the hurt begets the heal.