There’s an elephant in the room. It is large and squatting, so it is hard to get around it.
Yet, we squeeze by with, “How are you?” and “I’m
fine”...
And a thousand other forms of trivial chatter.
We talk about the weather.
We talk about work.
We talk about everything else – except the elephant in
the room.
We all know it is there.
We are thinking about the elephant as we talk.
It is constantly on our minds,
For you see, it is a very big elephant.
But we do not talk about the elephant in the room.
Oh, please, say his name.
Oh, please, say, “James” again.
Oh, please, let’s talk about the elephant in the room.
For if we talk about his death,
Perhaps we can talk about his life.
Can I say “James,” and not have you look away?
For if I cannot, you are leaving me
Alone... in a room...
With an elephant.

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Comment by Shady Wilbury on April 26, 2009 at 3:39pm
I love this poem. I've come across it in its original form several times since my journey began, and of course I didn't realise until this point that I could make it more personal, if you know what I mean. Also the bulk of it isn't quite true. I still find it hard to talk about her passing (case and point, can't use the "d" word) two years on. However, thank you for starting this site, and giving me and so many others the opportunity to stay and say what we need to.

Namaste, ("I salute the light within you")

Shady
Comment by Eve on October 2, 2008 at 1:50pm
I haven't run into this problem since Ed died. I talk about him frequently as do my family and friends. We remember him, trying to be realistic and not whitewash those memories. The irritating things he did are as much a part of our relationship as the endearing ones. So, we talk about them all.

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