For my mom who has passed away,
sometimes I am struck with thoughts of things you would do, or things you would say.
Gene and I got married before we planned
so that you could be there and understand.
I wanted you to see the dress
after the moment I told you I said yes.
We had taken you out to dinner
and your face lit up, though it was considerably thinner.
The months went by
but soon we knew you were going to die.
So, we set up in the backyard
before you even knew to by a card.
We wanted you to be there,
for no other attendance did we care.
The evening was a surprise for you
and you saw the moment we said “I do.”
It was beautiful in every way a wedding should be,
though not what was envisioned when Gene went down on one knee.
It was in the back of the house where I grew up;
a thrown together wedding, complete with the family pup.
From the day your health had started to dwindle,
I dedicated my career to prevent other Beauties from pricking that same spindle.
The one that took you away,
slowly and painfully, day by day.
You fell away to an eternal sleep
and I prayed the Lord your soul to keep.
Every night I went to bed
and said those words inside my head.
Now before I lay to rest,
I often wonder if it was best.
In my mind those horrible years have blended
but you were suffering too long and it finally ended.
It was cruel that it had to be you,
the sickness came so quickly without a single clue.
What would have been different if you never fell ill,
And never had to take a single pill?
Those months between of planning
would have had your additional experienced scanning.
I know you would have taken me to many stores after hours of researching,
I’d’ve seen many more catalogs with your wedding searching.
I would’ve introduced you to the world of pinterest and hated myself for doing so
because well, what did I get myself into? No!
You would have come home with little things to add a special touch,
no matter if i said it was a little much.
But those are things a girl can count on,
and I think I fell victim to a con.
I was jipped of a friend
who I was promised to grow with until a much later end.
Now that I am older,
I wonder how you would be bolder.
We would’ve been best friends,
you would help me with life’s turns and bends.
I know you would still have helped decide what to wear,
or how I should do my hair.
You would read my new favorite book
and teach me the little things i can’t figure out when trying to cook.
A lot of times when you come up in conversation
all it does it cause me frustration.
They tell me you were a fighter,
but that’s the easy way to keep a conversation lighter.
The ‘fighting’ was more like buffering,
because really you were only suffering.
I hate when they say you battled a tough fight,
in truth it makes my jaw clench tight.
It put you into a category,
one that doesn’t quite tell the whole story.
The word has become a cloak,
that shrouds the truth in a heavy smoke.
The truth of the matter is much more horrendous,
there isn’t a word to describe how tremendous.
I didn’t see the ‘fight’ as a great thing,
I saw you perched on death’s wing.
I watched you crumble in front me
and it didn’t seem as though God heard a single plea.
I lacked the ability to handle it
and have dealt in my mind’s own dark pit.
The other day for the first time I told a stranger about you,
and their answer hit me out of the blue.
They said they lost their mom too early as well,
and her next sentence I have to tell.
She asked a sincere question
that surprisingly was not about your regression.
She did not ask or comment on the cancer,
it was a question for which I immediately knew the answer.
“Was your’s a great mom too?” She asked.
Yes, you were a great mom, too soon passed.
I’ve lost to you an everlong sleep,
and I still pray the Lord your soul to keep
until we meet again.
May you watch over me until then.