Today would have been my mum’s eighty-seventh birthday.
Some years her birthday passes and the fact that she has gone is almost acceptable and it is pretty much just another day, but this year it has been different. This year the realisation that she won’t be coming back, ever, really slammed home. I don’t know why this is because she died fourteen years ago.
I’ve spent most of today with mum on my mind and I still don’t know why. I even wrote a poem. When I say I wrote a poem, I don’t mean I sat for hours writing a brilliant piece of literature. No, I simply wrote a few words.
So today’s very late post is sneaking in under the radar and is simply dedicated to my mum.
Another Year …
Another year. Another birthday
Another reason to miss you still
Time may heal but scars still itch
And I know they always will
Reminding me of love lost
Of tenderness that can’t return
Of a mother’s warmth, to be replaced
By memories that only burn
They burn my heart. They chill my soul
Like a fever across my brow
They say in time the pain will go
Really? Tell me how?
And if this is true …really true
Could I welcome that empty space?
Where once had lived a mother’s love
And how could I replace
That tender smile. That heart of joy
Life given from her very blood
The bond that formed in the womb
Like no other ever could
I stand and let my gaze fall
Upon the marble stone
It tells me of a mother
Gone …and I am all alone