I have been alone for the most part of this strange time of pandemic. It hasn’t been all bad surprisingly. It’s given me time to do some soul searching, prayer and meditation. Listening to a lot of music and writing again has focused me, in spite of myself.
I found this while organizing (and discarding) my old stuff. It came from the worse day of my life 22 years ago. The day I lost my son, Zach. He was 24, beautiful and smarter than I’ll ever hope to be. I was grasping at anything that would help me make sense of him not existing anymore. I honestly thought it was something I’d copied to give me comfort and then realized that I’d written it.
I would have never found this if not for my renewed interest in writing, which this forum and The Artist’s Way class have awaken.
When You Were Here
The night you were born, so much pain, so much joy.
The day you died, so much more pain.
The day of your funeral, so much joy.
To celebrate your existence, to know you were loved.
But the pain still is there.
I miss you every day.
I carry you in my heart and soul.
Deep down, where no one can see easily.
That’s my treasure, belonging only to me.
It makes people uneasy to know I have it.
They love you too, but are afraid they’ll
have to carry a treasure like that someday.
It took a long time to not look for your phone call.
To see your lanky walk coming to the door.
To hug your bony body while you smiled shyly.
To feel that burst in my heart.
So proud of you, for just being you.
You were such a strong energy.
I know you still are.
That cannot just disappear, as if it didn’t exist.
The universe can’t have just swallowed that up.
Sometimes I feel you dancing around me.
Or sitting beside me in the car.
And I am grateful for those easy feelings
of you being there and the love I feel.
I know I have to be patient to be with you again.
That where you are, time has no meaning.
I just want to thank you for letting me be your mother.
I still am, always will be.
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