Attempt to add the hours we have shared:
One hundred thousand, maybe thousands more?
Our paths conjoined for several years before
We struck out on our own and even dared
Imagine we would chase our dreams beyond
The borders of our joyful, sheltered lives.
But now we live with husband and with wives
In separate towns and rarely correspond,
Or so it seems when measured and compared
To neighborhood crusades we daily swore
Would never end. But we would soon respond
To destiny. What from those days survives?
That we still share a special sibling bond
Though kept apart by long, infrequent drives.

The deepest wells of grief reside next door,
Just out of sight and in the back of mind,
Abstract enough that most observers find
The time to sigh but then do little more.
Those most involved can’t simply walk away.
Their lives have changed forever from now on—
Those who remain defined by who is gone,
Those gone defined by who is forced to stay.
They greet the ones who come to say goodbye
And smile when all they want to do is cry.
Their well of anguish never can run dry,
Replenished by the next in line to die.
When death strikes down a stranger’s soul, they care—
But empathy is more than they can bear.