Memories of my Mother
Watching her get ready to go
Where did she go?
The smell of her make up
The smell of her cigarettes
Where did she go?
To the Elks club?
To an AA meeting?
Was it aqua net?
Something I had recently bought her at
Sprouse Ritz more than likely.
Emeraude…that was it.
Where did she go?
She's not here,
I am not sure she ever was
Except for the smells that haunt me
Through the day
That remind me.
What Do They/I Know
They say that 76 is not young to die.
Why does it seem so young to me now?
Is it because I am now
45 years old?
It would have been so
hard on my son and myself
to see her deteriorate
before our very eyes.
Is it easier now?
Do I miss her?
I cannot think clearly enough to know.
The fact is,
Mom is gone. Mom is dead.
I will never see her again.
I don't think it does.
Nothing seems “for sure” anymore.
I seem to know nothing.
Only that we are born and then we die.
Will I ever believe anything
Did You do Those Things to Please Yourself? Or Others?
You baked cookies.
You baked pies.
You worked into the wee hours of the morning banging bowls, utensils and baking pans.
I can still hear the whir from the mixer.
I can smell the delicious aromas coming up through the stairwell.
I can hear the open and close of the oven door, the running of the water through the pipes.
I can hear your voice. Were you yelling at Barney our Bassett thinking he would wake us up?
I even can hear the front door open and close as you rushed out to the all night grocery store to pick up that one baking item you forgot.
As if to complete some
part of you that just never
seemed to be complete?
The wife you were not capable of being.
The friend you never new how to be.
You could be beautiful.
You could be wity.
You new how to make them laugh didn't you?
Maybe through the preparing, mixing, baking and cleaning you could control some part of you.
Did it get you any closer
to who you wanted to be?
I Think I miss you
What will Christmas day be like without you mom? How can I go another day without you? I cannot even think about turning on the cd player, the carols. I only lit one advent candle this season mom. How can I light another? I feel a burning racing up through every part of me, is that what grief feels like? With every carol. With every Christmas cookie, bought present with every department store I want to run, hide…somewhere…where? I can not even comprehend going “overtown” only because the sound of the bell the salvation armyworker rings would be torment for me. I see the child like glee on your face as you spot every light on every house. Every one better that the last. I remember the rides home from our house last year. The moon light…I remember the time we stopped on the side of the road. We turned the car off. I remember. It was silent. The smell of the wood stoves, the fir trees, I can smell them. You can't remember, but I can. We would always try and spot the angel you had in the window of your apartment as we approached on Vashon hwy from the south. I wonder if we ever spotted it.
Do you remember how we inserted the words to Yankee Doodle Dandy to Old King Wincelas…we couldn't remember them so we sang Yankee Doodle Dandy to the tune of it.
Do you remember mom? Do you remember. I do.
I am “not” demented
But I am.
Or so it seems.
You see, her life is my nightmare.
So is his, my fathers life that is.
Am I loosing it now, my mind that is?
Is it too late?
Can I stop fate?
Or is it fate at all?
So many questions.
Am I depressed?
Or just depressed?
Mom, well, she was a mess. Dementia and bi-polar and who knows what else.
She would say “I am NOT demented”.
“Yes, I know you are NOT demented mom”.
Yes, she was.
Is it too late.
If it is, what can I do with my life.
Where is the hope?
With a capital H. As if it were something tangible. You know like chocolate.
I sure feel demented.
I sure feel crazy.
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