Among the many news reports and media coverage surrounding Robert Jordan's death is a wonderful report from the Charleston Post and Courier. It contains a poem that Harriet (RJ's wife) wrote in memory of him. The poem is entitled "Arachne".
Here is the link to view the article and poem.
Arachne
Outside the hospital, among the glittering cars,
tears come so heavy they obscure the sun,
December’s burning glass.
By the elevators that go to Cardio,
machines will sell the morning paper.
In with the change, look for the special quarters,
save them, do, you stupid bitch, and get his
news. Then down the hall for coffee
and a biscuit. He will not eat the food they bring him.
Congestive heart failure, they say.
What? They utter this word “amyloid†–
“ami†as amicable, “loid†as in Lloyd.
They say “progressive.â€
Then comes “fatalâ€.
The doctors say, Now take him home.
One says, It’s my vacation, off to the Dakotas.
One says, I have too much to do.
One’s office says, She’s gone for Christmas.
So he is home,
and we have Christmas.
I press on, feeding people,
smiling, pouring wine.
Alone, I crawl along the Web,
spinning, spinning, spinning,
poison silk of facts, of doubts,
of hideous prognosis.
So he is home,
and we have Christmas.
– Harriet Popham Rigney
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