I picked up the phone today to call my Momma,
before I realized there was no way to talk with her.
Why do I do things like this?
Why do I hear the wind chimes and
feel like my sister is right outside the door?
Grief and despair are sliding in again
like the slug of mud rolling down
the scalped mountains of Appalachia.
Will this pain never end? Or am
I left with these holes in my heart
never to be healed again? I know
time is supposed to heal all wounds,
but these wounds still gape and weep.
Occasionally, a ray of sunshine and
will enter, blowing cool hope and
wetting your mouth like an orange creamsicle.
Then like the tinkle of the wind chimes
or the rippling of a cool forest stream,
the feelings slowly ooze away, only
leaving hints of an unexpected return.
Bobbi, I am catching up. I remember this. And boy, do you nail it exactly right. You know, the years do help, growing and being in our life. You know that. But I'm not sure that a more muted sense of all those feelings ever disappears -- it hasn't for me in the 38 and 22 years since my parents died. Maybe it's not supposed to. Sending hugs. ~jeanie
ReplyDeleteThanks for your kind words, Jeanie. I truly appreciate it.
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