I had often read of you, known portions of you all my life; yet never had you been my familiar until now.
I know your scent. the chill with which you creep upon me every evening, whispering the emptiness in my ear - you lay beside me on my pillow, your weight enormous yet formless, smothering.
You've become known to me in ways I had not imagined, shading my thoughts, lingering long after your sting has occurred. You color each day, shredding many moments, masking hope, while you attempt to shove "reality" in my face.
I know you now, and will ever sense you near. You would have me believe that you are all that is.
I cannot succumb to your open arms, for if I did, I'm lost. You offer a valley with no exit, a well that is bottomless, a hurricane that has no calm eye, a scream with no silence.. rather only an echo that never ends.Over and over. I hear you. I feel you. Sorrow.
I take a swallow of your bittersweet liquid, and am tempted to bathe in it. Yet I pray loudly that this is not all.
Music brings you closer, as I sit alone in the evening.
You hover so close, whispering your lies of being forever. Your images are final and endless. Everywhere and nowhere all in a moment.
I grab onto my current moments as they pass, pulling myself out of your undertow. An iris bursting open, the purr of my cats, the hugs of family, the hand of my best friend... I hold them all as my guard against you Sorrow... and I know you linger nearby.
My Mother, my friend, my lantern has died this year.
February 8, 2012. 11:34 am eastern standard time.
I heard her last breath.
I saw her eyes one last time, the day before. and felt her love.
I touched her gently as I bathed away the last dust that would ever touch her skin.
I shed selfish tears, aching for her all over again, as I kissed the shell she left behind.
I know sorrow. She has become my companion in all my quiet hours.
a thousand rose petals
a million daisies
a gallon of hope
an ocean of faith
I am fortunate to be Harriet Anne's daughter.