This boy, with eyes of blackest night.
Lashed feathered butterflies
That rest on his cheeks
Surprised me.
I seek nothing more than what is freely given
I want nothing more than honesty,
Thought; prior to the preponderance that leans it towards something, or against it.
Thought; as truthful as it comes
Rest your head on my chest.
Hear my heart breaking its cage.
That fury is you.
10-26-15
Monday, October 26, 2015
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
You don't know which one I am anymore, but it's okay, I remember who you are.
I remember who you are, Mom. I remember those words that you always somehow knew to say, the way that you held us, even from when we were little, and you would pat us on the bum.
I remember how smart and decisive you were. I remember how you didn't mince words if something meant that much to you, how you were passionate and strong willed, yet so gentle, the hallmark of a lady.
I see that even in your death, you are giving us this gift. Just like babies weaned from their mothers, you are weaning us from you. You slip away slowly, yet your presence is still near. We reel in the abstract paradox of a mental illness, and you comfort us with your warm soft hands, even though your gaze is often focused afar. We have these brief instances of lucidity where we connect with you in a flash, and then like vapor, it dissipates. It could be seen as a loss, but Mom, I see it as your final gift to us. You knew we couldn't handle losing you in one go. So you somehow are being leaked from this realm, to the next, like water droplets, a slow flow from here to eternity, a tide leaving this place to form yet again somewhere else.
You make us strong Mom, in all that you were, in all that you are. In the silence in the car every day, instead of focusing on the fact that you have been voiceless for most of this year, I now recall the things that you did in fact say. I fall asleep with your words swimming in my head. Last night the memory between my seven pillows, one sheet, and one perfect winter weight comforter, was of how you were so proud of us, each one of your babies, for being so eccentric. You took pride in knowing you raised three separate individuals, who were all so different.
I strive for that daily Mom, to practice acceptance without judgment the way that you did, and to love on a broader scale. You knew no adversity worse than not being able to provide for your children. You saw no distance greater than the lack your children faced. You saw no ends to your love, or your self sacrifice. You wore a burqa for four years, your finger tips were split open from years of hard work and that antiseptic hand soap at the hospital.
My tiny human mind can not fathom why this happened to you. But I know that there has to be comfort in knowing that we will carry on. That this will not break us Mom. You made us so strong. You showed us how to look for answers, when others only saw insurmountable problems and dead ends. You showed us creativity and tireless dedication. You showed us the kind way is always the right way. You gave us the world, Mom. We are not bound by geographical locations or fixations on dwellings, or possessions. In our hearts, we are free. You gave us life, and we choose to live.
I remember how smart and decisive you were. I remember how you didn't mince words if something meant that much to you, how you were passionate and strong willed, yet so gentle, the hallmark of a lady.
I see that even in your death, you are giving us this gift. Just like babies weaned from their mothers, you are weaning us from you. You slip away slowly, yet your presence is still near. We reel in the abstract paradox of a mental illness, and you comfort us with your warm soft hands, even though your gaze is often focused afar. We have these brief instances of lucidity where we connect with you in a flash, and then like vapor, it dissipates. It could be seen as a loss, but Mom, I see it as your final gift to us. You knew we couldn't handle losing you in one go. So you somehow are being leaked from this realm, to the next, like water droplets, a slow flow from here to eternity, a tide leaving this place to form yet again somewhere else.
You make us strong Mom, in all that you were, in all that you are. In the silence in the car every day, instead of focusing on the fact that you have been voiceless for most of this year, I now recall the things that you did in fact say. I fall asleep with your words swimming in my head. Last night the memory between my seven pillows, one sheet, and one perfect winter weight comforter, was of how you were so proud of us, each one of your babies, for being so eccentric. You took pride in knowing you raised three separate individuals, who were all so different.
I strive for that daily Mom, to practice acceptance without judgment the way that you did, and to love on a broader scale. You knew no adversity worse than not being able to provide for your children. You saw no distance greater than the lack your children faced. You saw no ends to your love, or your self sacrifice. You wore a burqa for four years, your finger tips were split open from years of hard work and that antiseptic hand soap at the hospital.
My tiny human mind can not fathom why this happened to you. But I know that there has to be comfort in knowing that we will carry on. That this will not break us Mom. You made us so strong. You showed us how to look for answers, when others only saw insurmountable problems and dead ends. You showed us creativity and tireless dedication. You showed us the kind way is always the right way. You gave us the world, Mom. We are not bound by geographical locations or fixations on dwellings, or possessions. In our hearts, we are free. You gave us life, and we choose to live.
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