Who doesn’t always say the right thing
But tries anyways
I’m here for you.
The anxiety of trying to be perfect is real.
But the anxiety from the after math of being clearly imperfect is realer.
Like the realest real
It fucking blows.
And I’m here for that.
Because the recovery is such a beautiful mess to watch unfold.
You sit there with grace and patience
As the one you love breathes in
And breathes out
You hold their hand and sing lullabies
Hoping to connect them one last time to their earthly home
Praying they’ll just not be in pain any more
But wishing it didn’t have to be this way
And they may open their eyes for a minute and act like they see you
But you know they can’t
Because they’re already at the doors of heaven
And so you tell them to let go
Release their soul into the unknown
They’re safe now
But as you speak these words your sobs start trickling in and your voice wavers
“keep it together”, you whisper.
But it is too late, the loss of what you’re about to witness is so great that you yourself let go.
And it’s as if your soul is released with theirs and you can’t breathe anymore because you’re falling into oblivion with them
But when you open your eyes you’re the only one left in the room.
A poem written by a darling friend of mine. A poem that captures the raw emotion behind cutting. It could be triggering, but it is also beautiful.
Sometimes I feel you don’t even see me
You walk around with your nose to the ground busy on the grind when I’m screaming at you to look up.
But all you want is to avoid me
So I create pain
Small cuts at first
But you seem so use to this
That I’ve had to dig deeper
And when it stings just enough
That’s when you see me
You look up from the fog of your own bullshit just long enough to witness me in your eyes one more time
But then you cough and choke down the tears as if it’s a muscle memory
And I disappear
My relationship with you was through letters.
Small stories about my life.
Little whispers of childhood grumblings.
And now my relationship with you is through the clouds.
How did your death sneak up on me like this?
I knew it was coming but somehow I still thought I had more time.
I don’t even remember the last time I saw you.
But god I miss you.
You were such an anchor in our childhood.
And now you’re gone.
Just like that.
You’ve become a whisper
Just like my letters.
I’m the weirdo you’re all too scared to be.
He just said, “I want to keep them authentic to who they are so they don’t have to go out and try on these different personalities.”
If that’s not the realest parenting advice, I don’t know what is.
I don’t often think of this day.
The day our grandmother died.
I had just run a half marathon and was told at the finish line, she was gone.
At the time I didn’t know how to hold that information.
Do I cry? Do I scream? What do I do with this grief and shock?
So I compartmentalized it.
But when I went to your house that day to pick up my laptop, you knew how to hold that grief.
You were sitting on the couch crying.
And I was scared by your tears so I did nothing.
I didn’t know how to empathize with you.
I wasn’t practiced in that kind of social situation.
So I left.
Even when you asked me to stay, I left.
I was so uncomfortable with your display of emotion that I had to leave and to this day I regret that decision.
Because I let you bleed with your feelings on that couch that day and every day since then I have been bleeding with remorse.
You deserved a friend that day and I wasn’t it.
And I hope one day you can forgive me for that selfish act because it’s been 8 years since then and I still don’t forgive myself for it.
As I grow beyond my pain, I’ve started to see your love for me.
The love you’ve always had for me.
And I’m struck by how immense it is.
It is like a tree growing up toward the heavens
With every branch getting wider
And every root getting stronger.
I don’t know how I neglected to see this tree of yours with its arms stretched open and size so large
But somehow I did.
And I’m realising now that no matter how often I stubbornly disregarded your tree, it still grew.
And no matter how many times I tried to saw it down, it still stood.
Your tree never wavered.
And here I am now, also growing and reaching for the heavens
Because you decided to plant my seed in the ground.
Love you, mom.