Wednesday, April 16, 2008

mom, it is nearing midnight

And the line between us gets blurry.

I've been thinking about you all day, but on purpose- like sticking my tongue into a sore tooth to see if it still hurts. I have no words for the way this does and does not hurt. I'm sad to find my grief has softened so much, and knowing it's stupid to think that hurting less from your absence is a betrayal doesn't help my feeling that just a little bit, it is.

I'll be thirty-two, flipflop of the twenty-three you were when I was born. I held the baby and thought of you holding me. And just now think of holding you and stroking your hair the way I did Molly's a little while ago. I started to count how old you should be today and didn't let myself because it'll only create a life in pictures in my mind that is too cruelly different from what is here now.


I love and miss you. Tears stay in throat and calm with breathing. Was that possible a year ago? Two years ago, pregnant, did I feel already that mothering was helping me heal from losing you? I think I did, and I know that three years ago I was drunk and sobbing like a broken thing still.

Typing this out and posting it, paperless inkless intangible into the ether feels like the letters I wrote and burned to send to you. Curls of smoke and the words were gone but I kept the ashes in bags in my box of witchcraft.

Is it good, feeling less raw, to put these new letters where they'll be read?

No comments:

Post a Comment