That Day

That long corridor…step by step. Feet as led, heavy, stuck, yet needing to move forward. That closed door…don’t open it! But, it needs to be opened…gasp! Into a cold, morbid room…knotted stomach, stuck to the spine. Was I even breathing?

Barely standing, gasping…wondering, how is this even possible? My legs felt like they would give way…a hand, loving and strong touched me – my son by my side!

There you were…no smile, no rolling of eyes, no “Hi Mom”…no movement, no sound. Your butterfly t-shirt, comfy pants and comfy socks, such normalness…yet, it didn’t seem right. The teddy bear named Gabriel was in your arms. I remember when it was given to you. I remember when you clutched to it, now it seemed, well, not right. I hear, “take as much time as you’d like.” Time…really, “as much as I would like?” Can I freeze time? Can I stop time? If I could, this is NOT the place I would choose.

“Time” ended…the choice was made. My husband, my son and I put our hands on that door, none of us wants to close. That door that will mark the “end” as we know it here on this earth. It closes, it snaps…my heart shatters, again.💔

Just Grief

Doctors try to medicate it.

Gurus try to meditate it.

PAIN…raw, searing pain.

Let me sit in it; let me feel it to the full.

It’s better than not feeling at all.

If I run from it; if I hide…it won’t make it better.

The depth of my love is greater than the pain.

It’s normal! It’s needed!

No masks!

No games!

JUST GRIEF…

Last Breath…

The dawn of another sleepless night. Your breathing shallow, sporadic…every interval, more and more distant. “It” was lurking at every corner, making “it’s” presence known, felt…making my body stand on edge. “It” had been announced months ago, AND, maybe we had “accepted it”, but the thought that “it” was…almost here was just so unnerving.

Your little frail body, almost a shell of what you had been, finally at peace; finally the screams, “Help, me Mom!” had been quieted. The horrible flow of you vomiting your insides had stopped. Finally, you lay oh so peaceful, not writhing in pain. BUT what was the cost?

At times begging The Father to take you already. At times clinging to every last second of life…wishing for one last

…Hug, smile, giggle, even a grouchy face, anything…one last MOMMIE…

I’m playing one of your favorite songs, trying to sing to you…YOU breathed in ANDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD it was over!!!

My heart pulverized into a gazillion pieces…

I know You are at peace in the very safest place you can ever be. I know I will see You again. I know…I know…I know…

BUT

How do I convince my aching arms that they will hold You, again? How do I tell my ears that they will hear Your voice, again? How do I tell my eyes that they will see You, again? How do I tell the fragments of my heart to beat, again?

I miss YOU, my beautiful girl ❤

The Dreamer

As it was the custom of that culture the boys in the families would help out their father tend to the land or they would be hired out to other ranchers for meager pay. However, the “dream” was to be able to go to “el norte”. That was the ultimate job! Poverty was part of life in the village, so the only way to be able to take care of ones family was to be seasonally hired to head to “el norte” for a hard job and little pay.

Finally reaching the magical age of fifteen, he ventured out with just the clothes on his back. Little is known of his trek, but he finally made it to “el norte”. His father and three other siblings were already settled in a small apartment. He was so excited to join them. He knocks at the door. He is waiting in expectation. The door opens…it’s his Dad. They stand there looking at each other. The silence is broken with a growl, “What the hell are you doing here!? You look horrible, whose kid are you anyway?” The boy’s shoulders slump, his smiley face turns into a frown, and he stands at the door of his “Dad’s house” for what seems an eternity. He is finally let in…

And so life went. Always pensive, always “away” in his mind. Not sure if that “frown” ever disappeared. Ah, but the moments he would lose himself in his writing or composing were magical. Playing the piano brought him great joy, but the melancholy of his songs was palpable.

Marriage…fatherhood…other endeavors…BUT something was always amiss.

Disappearing at the young age of forty-eight. Never to be heard from or seen. Talks of a torturous death haunt our minds. Did this really happen to you? Are you still alive?

Your hopes and dreams shattered in the canvas of life!