Why wake up in the morning
To stare at nothing
And relive the dark moments
Just before the light went
Out of the dear life
And the paralysis
Of every fiber set in?
The might-have-beens parade
In never ending colums
To torment and point
At every little action
Or inaction of someone
Who could have
Or should have
Done something
Or other
That might have
Made the difference!
Life is sidelined
And stays in shadows,
Forgetting routines-
Waking, sleeping, eating.
Then, the onslaught
Of torrential out-pours
That dry out tear ducts
And wring out torment
At the touch of a jacket,
The sight of a furled umbrella
And the black sandals
In the kitchen- ever ready-
Either for inclement weather
Or to be worn off carpets,
At the sight of a brochure
Of long planned trips,
Or the feel of the briefcase
Ever carrying work
For tomorrows…
Until the day awakens
When, in balmy moments,
A thought is compared,
A joke is shared,
And your hand is held,
In spirit, for ever.
RosyView 
How powerful and sad. You have captured so much feeling in your writing. I hope it is helping at least a little. LIz
Poetry is supposed to convey experience through objects and images, etc. If people say what they feel in so many words without the tangibles and the concrete, it is not pure poetry according to T.S. Eliot. He calls it the Objective Correlative and Keats calls it the Negative Capability. I am trying to do that. Of course, I am not of a stature like them. I am the worst critic of what I write.
I’m not sure you should critic your words…we need to hear them.
So very well written, Rosy! Hope it is getting a little better as time goes by –seeing his jacket, or his black sandals, or briefcase, or umbrella, etc. bring comfort not sorrow. The list of trips planned with him but not taken, should be, could be checked off with another person or a group eventually?