Did I do the right thing

by stopping to visit?

To pay my respects

  to his mother?

 

Or should I have stayed

  away from her house?

My presence, perhaps,

  unwanted.

 

Perhaps I was seeking

  solace or grace.

Contrition, perhaps,

  was way out of place.

 

The quiet blank stare,

  no pain in her face.

Perhaps it was stoic

  retraction.

 

Perhaps there were meds

on board, somewhere.

 

Her quiet and stoic,

undaunted straight face

turned my contrition

  to utter disgrace.

 

Perhaps when I left

the poor woman cried.

God knows, I felt sorry;

how hard I had tried.

 

Perhaps my contrition

was way out of place.

 

I was still living;

her son had now died.

 

And I was there 

  when it happened,

 

Lord knows that I tried.

I can still hear her…