A feeble attempt at describing how my Mother feels, since Dad passed away ...
This House ... too big
Early morning, she awakens,
another restless night -
too many hours, too many thoughts,
not enough distractions.
She feels his presence
like he never departed.
He touches her shoulders
helps her feet find the floor,
and they walk through the motions
from room to room
she'd rather not eat, but he whispers,
"Don't forget."
This house is too big, too hard to manage.
If she leaves, will his spirit follow?
How will she cope, every day
without his touch, without his presence?
He calls her name, she doesn't answer -
others might think she's crazy,
but her heart skips a beat
and she knows he's still with her.
Days filled with memories,
hobbies become a burden.
She strives to regain composure -
catalogs her life, to capture who she is,
and she leans on his shadow,
holds on, embracing the past,
struggling with emotions,
they walk together.
Another day has passed -
she goes though the motions,
in this house, too big,
too hard to manage.
daisy (05/19/09)
