My Mother Is Dead

My mother is dead.
Pain pulses and pounds
To the very finger tips of my being,
Then curls back viciously, vacuously,
Violating every sinew back to my heart.
Grief sits a heavy load on my chest,
Making me gasp and groan, unable to breathe.
A cruel beast gnawing and clawing
Into my guts and out again.
The eagle of Prometheus
Relentlessly pursuing me
Life is forever chained

My mother is dead.
So do not say "you'll be a better person".
I wasn't that bad before.
Do not say "time heals".
I can't see that far.
Do not say "all things work to good"
What good?
Do no say "pray to God"
I'm not talking to Him!
Worst of all do not say nothing
Avoiding my gaze and the embarrassing elephant.
It's my pain not yours.

My mother is dead.
How flawed and faulty is our design
That we feel and hope, believe and love
With such intensity
That the price extracted
Is grievous, engulfing, gaping grief.
That we are formed for fellowship,
For mingled entwining relationship,
Only to be abandoned, incomplete, alone.
And that God, author of our situation
Experienced this same destitution
Is no comfort at all.

My mother is dead.
I wasn't that bad,
But now I hear and hold others.
I can't see the future,
But I do see her in my children's eyes.
There is good,
In the love and community of friends.
I didn't talk to God - for a long, long time,
But He never stopped calling my name.
And I will NOT say nothing.
I will meet your eye and hold you close.
I want to share your pain.

My Mum died in 1989. Thank you to all the people who have walked the road alongside me.