Blue

Mother's Day was difficult.
I'm just a very sad woman
right now....I travel a river
of sorrow. Right now, it's
a gentle river, I'm past
the whitewater I think.

Sometimes I'm in the river,
floating along, being carried
by the whim of the currents.
Other times, I'm in a little
boat and I get to be dry and
have a little control over
where I'm headed.

But I'm still on the river
of sorrow.





Yesterday was our 21st anniversary and neither Paul nor I remembered...
May is not merry, we are also coming up to the anniversary of Paul's twin
brother's death just 2 years ago, killed by a drunk driver. Paul's brother Patrick for whom our
Patrick was named.

Here's a draft of a poem I've been working on:

Ghosts

We are the ghosts in our own house,
wandering the hours
translucent and bewildered,
with grief smoking from us
in sooty tendrils that darken the walls.

We are the ghosts in our own house
drifting right through each other,
flickering sadly,
whispering feverishly,
breathing shadows and incense.

We are so hungry.
We are so thirsty.

We eat the golden light
from beeswax candles
and we drink their honey fragrance
seeking communion
with our lost one,
as though sun and flower
transformed so (bees, fire!)
might be the sacrament
for the bereft and earthbound.

We are the hungry ghosts in our own house,
with pockets full of stones and regret.
We are the thirsty ghosts dreaming of stars
shimmering through the fog
dreaming of wings (iridescence!)
bridging vast distances,
awaiting
a startling kiss in the darkness,
a blue and deathless
oasis.

This post was not at all what I expected to write. I have a file full of pictures of new shawls, of Luscious Gracious goodies. And I have a mind full of intentions....get back to my blogs regularly, even the decluttering; get my bookselling business back (Molly needs mega-tuition for fall...), start planning and creating for the fall ArtsFest booth.

I miss Patrick, the promise of him. I am so wounded by all he, and we, suffered because of his drug and alcohol addictions. And while I'm so incredibly grateful we had the opportunity to see his light beginning to shine again in those last few weeks, I feel so cheated and betrayed that he died, that he didn't make it all the way back to us, to a happier life for himself...

In those last weeks, he never, ever ended a conversation or got out of my car without saying, "I love you, Mom." And that's what I try to remember most.