For the first time I tasted death, and death tasted bitter, for it is birth, with the terror and fear of a formidable renewal.
I was glad to be lying at last in bed. But first I had passed through purgatory in the form of evening prayers, and we had sung a hymn,
one of my favorite ones. Alas! I did not join in, and each note was gall and poison for me.
I did not join in the common prayer, either, when my father gave the blessing, and when he finished: “Be with us all!”
I tore myself convulsively from the circle. The grace of God was with them all, but with me no longer.
Cold and very tired, I went away. After I had lain awhile in bed, wrapped around in warmth and safety,
my troubled heart strayed back once again, and fluttered uneasily in the past.
Mother had wished me good-night, as she always did,
her step sounded yet in the room, the light of her candle gleamed through the crack in the door.
Now, I thought, now she will come back again— she has felt my need,
she will give me a kiss and will ask, in tones kind and full of promise, what is the matter.
Then I can weep, the lump in my throat will melt away,
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