I witnessed Maris’ daily struggle with depression. Early morning was the worst. I’d wake, look across and see her, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, mustering the courage to face the day. One day I glanced across as usual and this poem came to me. I grabbed a scrap of paper before I lost it.
Her eyes are open
But she cannot see
Beyond the black veil
Drawn across her world.
She longs for the bright sun
To shine upon her earth
And banish the bleak dark shadows.
She longs for the gentle breeze
To lift the heavy curtain
That hides the good things in her life
But all she can feel
Are bleak cold winds
That chill her to the soul.
Maris found the scrap and wept. It described her situation exactly. She thought I had copied the lines from a book. I knew where she was at. I was doing my best to accompany my wife, to support on her terrible journey.
Extract from: No Way to behave at a Funeral.
Noel Braun 