A slow beating heart that aches
Hands that shake
Knees that buckle
Shivers through my body
I miss you, mom
Can you hear me from here?
Know that I forgive you,
Know that I’m near -
Even if you aren’t.
But that’s all too familiar, right?
Your presence, once so warming and near,
Quickly turned distorted,
And all I could see was the fear.
The fear of leaving,
The fear of staying,
The fear of grieving.
But now whose grieving?
The meth and the alcohol and the men
Do you regret those choices in your life?
When you gave up my brother and I, despite all our strife?
I held you closely in my heart until we were one,
Because you taught me to.
You taught me it was you and I, together forever.
I forgive you for all you’ve put us through. I forgive you for your mistakes, for your failures, for your addictions and illnesses.
Now, I must learn to forgive you for dying.
Which might prove to be a more difficult task.
I don’t think you can hear me,
But if you can,
Know that I always loved you.
Even to the end.
Decades of running and fights
Screams and blood and boyfriends
and running and running and running
What were you running us away from, mom?
And why, now, here, have you made your final run?
I hope that heaven’s treating you better than I ever could.
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