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Tragic Loss
Our last goodbye didn't happen.
Only I love you and planned future.
Nothing further, because you were taken from me.
I am dying in the monsoon of tears.
I feel me drowning and I cannot risk help.
I. I am terrorized by your final moments.
I use to have such guilt, because I loved the wrong woman.
She kept me from you. She stole my time with you.
Now I sit in the late hours crying and asking why.
Why did you do this to my mom?
Why did you cast such pain onto her love ones?
How could you rob us of her sweet laughter?
How could you steal her from us before we could say goodbye?
What had she done, or not done, to desrved your final judgement?
I stare into the night. Tears flooding my pillow.
I stare into my grief. I greet my mafness.
I stare into the dying freams. Hello my grief.
The sorrow penetration, the final nail in my heart.
I cling to your smiling face. I feel all of you fading.
I am sorry for my shortcomings and failures.
I only wish I had more time with you.
I pull at my hair, bury my crying face and rub my eyes raw.
The finale of you is penetrating my stubborn heart.
It screaming this nightmare is not true.
I am only your son with grief and regrets.
Crammed of bottled grief. Combustion of tears and screams.
I stare into the madness. I stare into the darkness.
Stolen from us. I fail at accepting you are gone.
I have walked a similar path
I have walked a similar path of emotions, dear stranger. It is enough to cope with the ending, in this life, the overlapping chapters of our separate books. It seems to be improbably harder yet to cope with the last chapter ending on a page we wish it hadn't, or feeling a key chapter was left blank. It took me many years to really grapple with this, and I still regress at times. It is the product of a great incompleteness and imperfection, but also truly love. Love and incompleteness are water and oil.
The one cure I know of, friend, is a certain faith. A faith that your mom knows how much you loved her. Mom's tend to be pretty keen on these things. And, also, that such a sense of incompleteness only exists because something deep inside us knows there are other opportunities that await at the end of our earthly journey. All the best to you. Thank you for sharing your profound pain. It is helpful booster medicine to this reader, even after all of these years.
Death Realist
I worked in healthcare most of my workklife. Death is simply inevitable. At 71, I am ready for that night thief. Every living moment is precious! Wishing you health and happiness! ~S~