I haven’t written in this space for a very long time. But last night a poem came and I started thinking of you in ways I hadn’t before.

In the first depths of grief I felt charged with keeping your memory. That only I could keep you safe. That my role as your mother was to wrap the precious memories you left in tenderness and share them oh so very carefully. That my tears were proof of your life and what would be left if I stopped crying?

Now, I’m not sure that you are quite as fragile as I first thought. I talk to you and you are always there. I feel you, even when days have passed without turning my thoughts to you. Your presence hasn’t faded. It’s grown more constant.  Not so steeped in sadness.

Perhaps we both grew stronger.

The 3am poem……

It’s been a while…

It’s been a while since we talked.
A while since you prayed.
Been a while between fervent wishes,
That I could have stayed.

I know that you’ve been busy.
Life has carried you along.
And you only really cry now,
When the radio plays our song.

Sometimes you stop, you pause,
And then you look for me.
And oh the guilt you feel,
That life feels as it should be.

You thought you’d never get there,
You thought there’d always be an ache.
Because in the absence of hard grief
What shape do I take?

I am not made of your tears.
I am no distant memory.
I am real and I am solid.
There is a separate me.

Your sadness isn’t all of me.
Your grief is not my whole.
We have a deep connection.
But I’m an independent soul.