Mona, your poem touched me in two ways...the poignancy of your feelings for your Mom...and your generosity of heart in sharing that with this little community. (I'm also touched by the love and support in the responses offered in reply). I didn't think I had a poem in me today but you inspired one...
When Something Tastes So Good, That I Know Mom Would Like Me To Bring Some Over
And your poem! Ooof. So beautiful that when you’re enjoying something you have that loving thought of wanting to share it with your mama! And dang. How I can relate to “oh —- I forgot.” This was literally my refrain throughout childhood, as to why I didn’t do X Y and Z, chores, things my mom would ask me to do…. and then in adulthood in all these quieter ways. Anyway, thank you for reading and sharing.
What poignant memories these poems bring up for me. Mona, your beautiful poem reminds me how surprised I was by the longing I felt watching a woman help her feeble mother walk up a flight of stairs. I never imagined that was a moment I would desperately miss my mother.
thank you so much, Deacon, ad what a moving image. it's amazing, isn't it, what types of things evoke feelings of missing, of longing, of loss. thank you for sharing.
I can see many of us relate to your sorrow here Mona.
My Mum's last days were in a bed not of her choosing. In that time she was angry and distressed about being in aged care which she saw no need for. I had a dream that she and I lay still and side by side together in that bed. The peace of the image stayed with me through the turbulence of her unhappiness. The dream gave me its gift, and her too I think.
I usually try not to look at the entries until after I’ve composed my own writing. But I’ve been struggling with this. So I came here to read some of the entries. First when I come to is yours. What a beautiful piece of writing. You wrote so honestly….Your willingness to be vulnerable.
I know you’re at the beginning of this walk with grief. I wish you love and healing.
ohh, Annie, thanks so much for sharing. (I recently read this lovely illustrated book called Hello, Grief, and there is this part, speaking of regret, regrets, mainly in the form of an image that looks like an unfolding scroll that seems to go on forever. ahhh. sending comfort your way.
My mother's world is fragmenting too. Yesterday, she didn't recognize my older son, though she knew who he was last weekend at our younger son's wedding. It's difficult to see her struggle.
I'm so sorry, Carri. How do we hold grief for who our parents were while, at the same time, embracing who they are in the time that is left? A question I ask every day...
Always respond as if she remembers...i send you blessings to hold her, to be grateful for each moment she is here. One day she will cross over and be whole again. Then she will watch over you and your boys too.
Really works. Reminded me of the fruitcakes my mother-in-law used to send. I made the mistake of saying I liked it the first year. I dreaded them, until I missed them.
Ah Jenny, that’s the real separation, when the self dissolves and is only seen in precious, fleeting moments. May that ache move us to pour love into the next generation.
Lyn thank you. I’ll keep this with my copy of the Paul Celan poem. It has something of the experience I am having — and about which I came on here to post a poem of my own…
I remember that day all too well. A third-grader at St. Gabriel's in the Bronx, I was sent down the hall to fetch the milk for our snack. When I returned, the class was in mayhem.
As I Lay Here in My Mom’s Bed Eleven Weeks After Her Passing, I Remember All the Times She Invited Me to Sleep in the Bed Next to Her
And my automatic, cheerful, high pitched response: “no thanks!”
Oh Mona - the ache and love in this poem. x
thank you for seeing/feeling both in here, dear Pádraig. ♥️
Mona, your poem touched me in two ways...the poignancy of your feelings for your Mom...and your generosity of heart in sharing that with this little community. (I'm also touched by the love and support in the responses offered in reply). I didn't think I had a poem in me today but you inspired one...
When Something Tastes So Good, That I Know Mom Would Like Me To Bring Some Over
oh --- I forgot
Thank you, Mary, for all you’ve said here. 🙏🏾.
And your poem! Ooof. So beautiful that when you’re enjoying something you have that loving thought of wanting to share it with your mama! And dang. How I can relate to “oh —- I forgot.” This was literally my refrain throughout childhood, as to why I didn’t do X Y and Z, chores, things my mom would ask me to do…. and then in adulthood in all these quieter ways. Anyway, thank you for reading and sharing.
Mona, thank you for receiving my little poem and for offering this thoughtful reply.
What poignant memories these poems bring up for me. Mona, your beautiful poem reminds me how surprised I was by the longing I felt watching a woman help her feeble mother walk up a flight of stairs. I never imagined that was a moment I would desperately miss my mother.
thank you so much, Deacon, ad what a moving image. it's amazing, isn't it, what types of things evoke feelings of missing, of longing, of loss. thank you for sharing.
Oh, such a bittersweet memory. I feel this poem in my core. Thank you.
thanks so much, Sean. 🙏🏾
It’s not much more than 11 weeks since my mom’s passing. I feel this tension deeply. Thank you for sharing.
I'm so sorry for the loss of your mom, Ashleigh. Thanks so much for reading and sharing.
I can see many of us relate to your sorrow here Mona.
My Mum's last days were in a bed not of her choosing. In that time she was angry and distressed about being in aged care which she saw no need for. I had a dream that she and I lay still and side by side together in that bed. The peace of the image stayed with me through the turbulence of her unhappiness. The dream gave me its gift, and her too I think.
Oh Julie, what a beautiful vision of you and your mum laying still, side by side, peaceful. Thank you for reading and sharing this. 🙏🏾
I usually try not to look at the entries until after I’ve composed my own writing. But I’ve been struggling with this. So I came here to read some of the entries. First when I come to is yours. What a beautiful piece of writing. You wrote so honestly….Your willingness to be vulnerable.
I know you’re at the beginning of this walk with grief. I wish you love and healing.
Thank you for your kindness and generosity and love, Elaine. I feel it, receive it, am moved by it, and thank you! 💞❤️🩹
I feel you Mona. Sending love.
Thank you, Norie 💞🙏🏾.
An exquisite, soulful poem.
So kind of you, Michael. Thank you 🙏🏾.
Oh, this is stunning and painful. Hit me right in the core.
Thank you, Stefanie ♥️🙏🏾.
Oh my gosh. I have guilty about saying “no” to my Mom’s same invitation and making excuses why I shouldn’t. I’m not the only one. Thank you, Mona.
ohh, Annie, thanks so much for sharing. (I recently read this lovely illustrated book called Hello, Grief, and there is this part, speaking of regret, regrets, mainly in the form of an image that looks like an unfolding scroll that seems to go on forever. ahhh. sending comfort your way.
This resonates for me. Oh how I would love to lie next to my mother now....
❤️🩹
I am thinking of you, Friend.
thank you, Jenny Noble Anderson! 💗
EVERY YEAR MY MOM GIVES ME A BOX OF ANDES MINTS TO PLACE IN MY CHRISTMAS STOCKING.
Last year, she forgot.
My mother's world is fragmenting too. Yesterday, she didn't recognize my older son, though she knew who he was last weekend at our younger son's wedding. It's difficult to see her struggle.
I'm so sorry, Carri. How do we hold grief for who our parents were while, at the same time, embracing who they are in the time that is left? A question I ask every day...
Such a good question….
Always respond as if she remembers...i send you blessings to hold her, to be grateful for each moment she is here. One day she will cross over and be whole again. Then she will watch over you and your boys too.
Moved me to tears. I love poetry for this magic, to be surprised by tears or joy or ...
That one gave me chills.
Brings out the scene of aging parents with longterm illness and my heart aches.
Really works. Reminded me of the fruitcakes my mother-in-law used to send. I made the mistake of saying I liked it the first year. I dreaded them, until I missed them.
oh my goodness. a thud and gentle questions came up
I'm so sorry...
There’s so much in here. Beautiful.
Ah Jenny, that’s the real separation, when the self dissolves and is only seen in precious, fleeting moments. May that ache move us to pour love into the next generation.
My mother did the same and the same thing happened. Thank you for sparking my memory.
ON FINDING PEACE AFTER LOSING FAITH
Morning by morning, I meditate, hand on heart, before a statue of no one.
"Blessed art Thou, No-One" - from Paul Celan's poem "Psalm". Thank you Lyn.
Just read "Psalm". Wow. Thank you.
The poem, so beautiful. Here is a link to his life story on the Poetry Foundation, that deepened how I thought about your essay today, Pádraig.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/paul-celan
wow. took my breath away. 🙏🏾
Lyn thank you. I’ll keep this with my copy of the Paul Celan poem. It has something of the experience I am having — and about which I came on here to post a poem of my own…
Gorgeous. 🙏🏾
On finishing the 100th revision of her poem about two moons on course to collide
She rereads the first draft. Decides it was smashing.
Yes ❤️
Love it!
THIS MORNING I MADE THE BED.
All the covers were on your side.
Oh Padraig…! How grateful I am for this short sweet invitation to remember, to feel, to heal… 🙏 Here’s mine:
“I flew to North Carolina to see my mother and let myself in through the front door.”
“Good Lord! Who’s that tall handsome creature?!” she asked, without looking at me, smiling at my husband.
Me too, sigh. Sorry you had to experience that.
Oh yes, Kathleen, I've been there!!
My Father Called Me the Best Son He Ever Had
He has three of them — and one daughter: me.
oooof. 🙏🏾
WHEN I WAS A KID I SPENT A LOT OF TIME ALONE
An unfolded cardboard box glides so easily down a flight of stairs
I did that, too! Love that memory. And so much time spent alone that I learned to fill with myself.
I'm 6 again and playing in Imaginaryland, thank you
Every word in the last card my granny sent:
"I've no advice for you."
I AM SENT HOME EARLY FROM SCHOOL ON NOVEMBER 22, 1963
My father and mother are sobbing on the couch across from the TV.
I too remember that day exactly that way
I was in my college dorm room where we gathered and cried in fear and sorrow.
I remember that day all too well. A third-grader at St. Gabriel's in the Bronx, I was sent down the hall to fetch the milk for our snack. When I returned, the class was in mayhem.
Oh gosh I remember…
On Opening to Myself As A Sensual Woman I Have Not Yet Been
Breasts heave and juices flow from my own doing and being
delicious!
Juicy
And of a similar mind:
She's At an Age When Libidos Often Retire and Taking a Scandously Young Lover Would Be Simply Preposterous
The bedroom door is left slightly ajar around midnight
Fantastic! 😍
I love this! Thank you!
You could be replaced by a cat, I thought.
And then he was.
This made me laugh out loud! Brilliant! Thank you!
Yes!!!! I had the same thought at age 23 and the cat was with me until I was 42🤗.
been there, done just that! Loved this.
"After my first kiss when her mouth tasted of orange juice and vodka"
"I went back the next morning to retrieve my baseball cap which had fallen from my tilted head into the mud."
Father, As You Prepared to Die, I Asked You a Question.
Your reply to my question still left me wondering.
Conversation with a young man in the prison's visitation room:
We lost track of time in talking; for a moment, he sees his life's path laid out before him.
Driving Past The Road From Here To Where My Mother Lived
I am lost
Thank you gentle readers