Years ago, I wrote poetry all the time. I found it healing to place my thoughts and feelings into verses. As an emotional love struck crazy teenage girl, poetry fit me best. I still write poems, but not as frequently as I did when I was younger.
I wrote this poem three years ago. My first Mother's day without Owen.
Are you a mother when your child is dead?
No one to hold, the nights are too quiet.
I have been told
that time heals and pain lessens.
After all the platitudes, positive attitudes
and smiling nodding faces are gone
We are left in emptiness and grief,
to walk alone, sorrow alone.
What do you say to a dead man?
To a half dead woman with a hole in her heart?
Nothing is good enough.
Words are not kind, all sting and hurt.
But silence cuts the deepest.
I pushed published before I meant to!
After three and a half years since Owen's death and after many thoughtless or insensitive words from others, I have found that I would rather someone try to talk to me about Owen. Though my feelings may get hurt from an ignorant or well-meaning comment, silence still cuts the deepest.
Having people ignore the 'elephant' in the room, especially around Mother's day or the anniversary of Owen's death and birth is far worse than having a well-meaning comment hurt my feelings because they were trying to comfort or console me.
Happy Mother's day to all my fellow bereaved mommies. I love you all. You are beautiful mothers. I will be holding you close in my heart this Sunday.