May
08

Missing Mom on Mother’s Day

By

My mother died 8 years ago. I miss her every day. This is a poem that came to me months after she passed. I share it with you– friends, family and BlockBusters.

WHEN YOUR MOTHER PASSES
By Judith Parker Harris

You hold her hand impossibly tight,
Listening, listening, with all of your might,
You want to hear, just once more for you,
“I love you, and I’m proud of all that you do.

Instead, she struggles for each last breath,
Her eyes closed tight – her body near death.
You want to hold her, but you’re afraid she’ll break,
How can she leave you? So much of you she’ll take.

You wait for a signal – some kind of sign,
That she’ll be all right for the rest of time.
You know she needs approval from you,
That it’s all right to go away from view.

Her breath grows more labored,
You wonder what to do.
Who will tell you, “I’m so proud of you.”
Who will remember from day one?
Where will your memories go, when her life is done?

The hour is near, she’s grown so tired.
She did her job – she served her time.
She needs to know it’s her last day.
She needs to know that you’ll be okay.

It’s so hard, you take a break.
The day is still, your body does ache.
You sit down next to the open door,
The curtains blow – you’re alone no more.

The angels have come to take her away.
“I know you’re here, talk to me,” you say.
Her breathing changes – soft as a baby.
Is it Daddy or Grandma she sees? Well, maybe.

You grab her hand and know it’s time.
The words must come – the words sublime.
I’ll be okay, Mom, it’s okay to go,
You’ll always be with me – I love you so.

Within seconds your dear mother breathes no more,
Her body is there, but her spirit does soar.
Her soul has moved on and you’re all alone,
“Mom is gone,” you cry, “now she’ll never phone.”

You do the right thing to see her off to eternity,
The proper casket, ceremony and serendipity.
Your body’s empty, you have no heart,
Your mother’s gone – She bore your start.

How can you live without the womb,
That was your first and most loving room?
Where is the meaning when Mom is dead?
Who will you try to make happy instead?

Days and months pass by like sand,
You cry and cry and search the land.
Who will love you unconditionally?
“No one,” you say, “Its up to me.”

Now you can do it because Mom’s moved in,
She lives in your heart where she’s Mother Hen.
You’ll never be lonely – you’re living for two,
Moms never leave, they just become you.

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