Friday, September 27, 2013

The night my mother died and after

Eyes so tired from crying.
Sitting in the bleachers at a football game.
Remembering that my mother is gone.
Hating the fact that I can't be home.
Watching balloons going up up up into the black sky
And wondering if she might catch one.

Surrounded with family
I have never felt so all alone.

Healing comes with time.
With time, I learn that life goes on.
With time, I realize that it wasn't that he was thoughtless--
Just that he didn't know how to cope, either.
Realizing that he probably had few memories of that night.
Just as I have no memories of the night my husband died.

I feel the emptiness
And allow myself to realize
That was his emptiness, too.
Maybe we didn't know how to express it,
But our world had come to an end.
I don't think he ever figured out how to recover--
But I did.

Time passes, and I can look back
And remember
And forgive
And move on.

I love you, Daddy.
I know now exactly how you felt,
And I'm sorry that you didn't get the support you needed.
I no longer blame you--
You tried, I know.
More, Daddy, I thank you.
You taught me how not to respond to death.

Because of your stagnancy,
I realized the need to live.
I owe my recovery
In part
To you.
In doing what you did not,
I walked to wholeness,
And am dipping my toe in the pool of joy.

When I'm ready, Daddy
I'll swim a lap
In your honor.


2 comments:

  1. Beautiful Meg..thank you for sharing.
    with love,
    Laurie

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. This post is one reason I love writing. It's a "photo" memory--a moment stuck in time--so miserable in a game that I would hate for many years to come, staring up at the balloons with eyes that were sore from crying that it hurt to keep them open--I had no idea what to write about it. The inner voice just kept telling me to write. And as I wrote, the rest of it came, and with the writing came the healing.

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