To Miss, I'm Remiss

Like tulle fog carried on delta breeze, you’ve up and left me. 

Empty halls, cold clothes, silent calls, absent arms...my breath sullen, my shoulders fall. 

A blow of primordial proportions, weeping from depths undiscovered. 

Limbs crumble, stomach knots, eyes swim and head numbs with tingled incoherence. The womb has waned--my home, receded into the sea; like forest mist seeking solace in sunbeams.  

No matter what pain postulates, my mom, my love, my blood, the original face of my heart; you’re embrace is not lost, but merely revised; coursing through my vessels, lifting my lungs, contracting my muscles, lighting my cones, moving my bones; you’re the breeze through my hair, the dusk kiss of western skies, the redwood pregnant with dew, the blessed laughs of children at play, the fawn with a belly of fresh grass.

You’ve shed your suit of skin to penetrate deeper within; the body unable to contain your love. My dearest mother, you’ve never been closer. I live for two, now. I love for you, now.  

To compose a portrait of your person, to impress upon your admirers the scope of your brilliant, budding heart, I look to the past, to the fleeting, fluttering moments of joy, enlightenment, tenderness, vulnerability and sustenance you gifted me on this transitory path, this plane of momentary revelation; this mysterious presence we call life.

Selflessness, a mother through and through. My memories, like rings on trees, persist and guide. My gaze often rested on the hallowed visage of the nurturer. With hair that danced like kelp in the sea, eyes soft with a dulce sheen, cheeks flushed as if kissed by peonies, and lips moist with shea cream--I fell hard for the face of this new place. Like an elephant's calf, I was by your side for life. 

Like a boomer in pouch, I clung close. Her smell eased my pensive nature, her voice an aria of intrigue and her willingness to provide for my grubby gullet with little thought of self endured me endlessly. 

Yellowed photos cry with consistency; my baby body, firm in her beaming embrace. I can see the symbiosis blossoming; her purpose and sense of self deepening. She was happy--I so loved to see her happy. 

Society’s shackles sunk in early, as guilt flooded my five-year old body. My classmate gifted me my first non-maternal kiss; upon tearful confession, mom smiled, laughed, and labeled it love. Be calm, young one, we all bleed. 

Rancor ebbed and flowed, attachments sank in and rose, but always know, this path is carved long before these wounds form scars. As oxygen is to water, every piece I embrace is in pursuit of wholeness; a light shined to erase lies. 

More than anything, she loved the faults I bring; a son who feels deep does not make for restful sleep. I drained her, I perplexed her, I frightened her; she gave more, she listened with greater intent, she cried in private. The love I did take was not equal to the love I should have made. 

Her voice, a dose best taken daily, reassured and rested my waking as waves of love from my cellphone ear piece. Daily accomplishments were restless to express; funny anecdotes giggling in anticipation; lowly lows gently pulling on her dress with shoulders slumped. The sun seized to circle if my quota of Colleen was unfilled. 

Practical, patient, stern but caring; her advice was as steady as Etna’s flaring. Her words discerned, her insight pure, her will to calm unmatched and sure. When busy signal’s the only tone that greets, my grief takes hold and haunts like sheets. When the fancy to phone her grips my mind, I’ll breath deep, look inward and bide my time.    

What I’ll remember most is her unflinching devotion. Come hell or high water, she moved earth for her son and daughter. Never did she judge, so much as nudge. Mistakes where noted, solutions promoted. We were always redeemed in the eyes of Colleen. 

A passing this near is almost too much too bear. As if whacked by cyclonical winds, disorientation, extreme pain, mountains of what-ifs and memories remain. Though, through passing, my mother made the cliches clear--it is now, not then, that is here. 

To live through pain, to learn and change; to embody the grace she so graciously made plain. Through taking her best, honoring her rest, and realizing in tragedy, we are still blessed. Because, mom, you gave me 32 years I’ll cherish and revere. And I’ll give you many more, as I’m still here. I live for two, now. I love for you, now.