Conversation with my Mother

 

My mother passed away on April 6, 2008, eleven days before my 40th birthday.  The following month I wrote this poem still trying to grab onto the reality that she was gone.  She was 83 years old.  A part of me was a bit angry that my sister’s got more time with her.  They are 15 and 24 years older than me.  It is illogical but the truth.  They were able to have her around much longer than 40 years.  The lessons she taught me have been coming even after her passing.  There are so many times when being a mother to my own children I must reach into my memory bank and wonder, “What would Mom do?”

This Mother’s Day I dedicate this poem to all those who have lost their beloved mothers.  It is always a void no matter how easy or difficult the relationships might have been.  Happy Mother’s Day.  Cherish the moments spent with her while she’s here.   Life is precious.

 

The Conversation

 

I could have never realized

the void,

the space between days,

as I will never hear your voice again.

There was no warning,

or prelude,

to understanding the loss of a mother.

I am missing you.

The things taken for granted

are clearly visible

now in your absence.

I am empty without your questions

while trying to break away

from the rhythm of change,

from the signs of seasons.

It still seems like a background dream,

incoherent at times,

with a loss of reality

that advises me that you

are no longer here to hold my hand.

I am trying to remember the colors

of your world,

the noises of your words,

the smell of your significance.

I am struggling to leave it alone

and understand

I can still hold a one-sided conversation.

Life springs eternally

with faith and grace

and I know you are somewhere else.

Do you now have a view into eternity?

Are you in some light that warms you

even when you didn’t believe?

Death begins with life

and the knowing that death

is only a breath away.

I feel insufficient,

drained of resources on what to say,

while you were always an ear away.

I didn’t think,

or perceived this would be so daunting.

I can accept the passing

but it’s the things that weren’t clarified,

or lived, or mentioned and avoided

that have become thorns under my skin

pricking ever so carefully

during sleep, while driving,

in meditation,

and in my walks.

I will forever hold your hands,

those that mimic mine,

while I fall asleep

waiting for your visit in my dreams.

 

5/13/08 MA Mestril

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7 thoughts on “Conversation with my Mother

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