Today marks six months after your passing.
On this blistering cold May Mother’s Day
I cannot erase the image of you in that bed,
The life still behind eyes that would not close,
But could not see those in your presence,
Or the sounds bubbling up just past your lips.
I know if you could, you would say not to cry.
You would have squeezed our hands in return
As we held it in prayer, whispering your praise.
I know you smiled as we laid you next to him.
You finally rejoin him to rest among the clouds
After nearly 35 years, your love running deep.
I feel you in the dim Sunday morning light.
I see you in ladybugs, in wild roadside daisies.
I love you in ways I never mentioned aloud.
We bought roses to place at your grave today:
Crimson red ends with petals of vivid orange.
It was your favorite color; it is also mine.
I will leave you with a soft whisper to the wind
And tears to replenish the roses as they wither.
We leave a singular rose on papa’s side,
As we shiver in the cold and say goodbye.
I kiss my frozen fingertips and leave my prints
On the spot just above your carved name,
Softly confessing my promise to return.
