Sarah was captivating, brilliant, and funny. She had an incredible capacity for joy. We first met on a Thanksgiving Day, fell in love, and got married.
But behind her public face, she struggled with her mental health, especially depression. Over time this bonded us, and we became each other’s total world. I was sure she would make it. It was impossible to think otherwise. She wasn’t sure. Exactly sixteen years from the day I first saw her, and unintentionally another Thanksgiving Day . . . she died by suicide. My world stopped.
Writing, during the darkness, became my only solace. These poems emerged during that time. They have sat on my shelf, read by no one except me, for over twenty-five years. Until now.
Embers indicate that there was once a flame that, though time has passed, still provides light, even though it’s smaller, less visible. Embers tap into an ancient human memory – of having a bit of light in the dark. Of hope that requires protection. Of potential. They are a thing that can consume you or still do harm, but when used with care can be transformative and useful. Now-quiet, still-potent – embers, in the form of these sixteen poems, became Roger Wallace’s symbol of and tribute to his path through grief.