The light of the world is dimmer

I’m glad I had my tarot group tonight, because I needed to be with beloved community as I processed the loss of the brilliant beacon of goodness, Dolly Parton. I know the loss hit so many of us quite hard, even if we only knew her second hand via her music, performances, and philanthropy.

I wrote this on Facebook.

I’m going to do my best keep to this vow.

This passing hit home, because I’m of the age when all my role models are passing and I’m turning into the “wise elder” person. Just as I was thinking about this, my friend shared this moving poem she wrote. I hope you enjoy it and it brings some comfort.

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When the Torch Comes to Us

by Stephanie Perdue

When I was young,
there were so many running ahead of me.
Grandparents.
Parents.
Family and friends.
The voices and faces I idolized
who seemed as permanent as the stars.
There was always someone ahead.

But as I grow older,
I watch them disappear.
A grandparent.
A father.
A stepfather.
A friend.
Then another familiar name
from the soundtrack of my youth
is followed by two dates
and a lifetime reduced
to the space between them.

And each time,
my heart feels the quiet slippage of time.
The line ahead grows shorter.
Now I see my mother there,
her brother and sister beside her,
carrying the torch passed to them
by the generation before.
I don’t want their turn to end.
I don’t want to imagine
a world without their voices in it.
Yet time does not ask
whether we are ready.
One by one,
those ahead of us finish their race,
and suddenly we realize
we have moved closer to the front.

Perhaps that is what frightens me most
about growing older:
not my own finish line,
but watching those I love
reach theirs.
Knowing there may come a day
when the torch passes
from my mother’s hand to mine,
and my generation will look ahead
and realize—
we are the ones carrying it now.

So while the people I love are here,
I will love them.
I will listen to their stories.
I will remember their laughter.
And I will try not to save too much
for someday.
And when the torch finally reaches my hands,
I will hold it tightly.
I will remember all the hands
that carried it before mine.
And I will carry their light
as far as I can.

Because life is tenuous.
Life is terribly short.
But love—
passed from hand to hand,
heart to heart,
generation to generation—
can travel farther than any one of us ever will.

—shared with permission. Copyright (c) 2006 by Stephanie Perdue