I wanted to see them today…in the quiet. Do they know that she is gone? Do they feel her absence like I do? The stories from now belong to us. Her story has gone to print, no more edits or redos. And those of us left behind Chinese whisper the details.
We live in the illusion that we are moving forward. In reality, the currents pull us back, a radius maintained. The most important questions remain unanswered.
A Piece of Me My mother passed away December 16, 2017. A piece of me passed away with her. She was 84 and very ill. I knew that the day was coming. It comes eventually for us all. Still I didn’t want it to happen. I can’t explain how I feel. I can’t seem to…
Silence doesn’t mean that I have nothing to say, it means some things are better left unsaid.
Each time she naps, I wonder who I will find when she wakes up. Will she be my mom? Will she be the 9-year old orphan she once was? Will she be looping through a question cycle?
We shifted to this new space. At first, we seemed out of place like liquid falling into a glass, bouncing and splashing, pressing on the sides, snuggling finally into its new confines. Well, we’ve snuggled and I love it here.
As I stepped on the edges green and earth-toned, I slid down, runner and all, into an abyss, deep and debilitating. Once there, my every effort to climb upward met resistance, slender, ivory talons clawed and cajoled, sucking me deeper.
I lived my life comparing it constantly to what I thought it should be. In some ways, I suppose that is not such a bad thing. But the models I had placed in mind were not real. They were fabricated relationships.