I am twenty-two.
Grown-up in a world with so much to lose.
My mom does not know who I am,
Not because she left, because she can’t
Process memory like she used to,
Plagued by a disease that’s so cruel.
First, she was crying, “What happened to me?”
Knowing she was sick was no victory.
Now, the diagnosis is forgotten with so much more,
Like how to put on shoes or what forks are for.
And it blows my mind that a simple thing,
That a child could do and find boring,
Is a struggle for her to try and complete
Like knowing a peel or rind is not something to eat.
Using the bathroom or putting on clothes
Feel like tasks we always will know.
Till awoken to the cold truth of despair-
It’s much more than an issue of choosing what to wear.
These thoughts, they’re hard, a fist to the gut,
Slamming my heart with hurt so abrupt.
On the phone: “Hi, Mom”. She says, “Hi, Mom” back.
I choke back the tears so she won’t react.
I tell her I’m her daughter and she says, “I know”.
But whether that’s true has yet to be shown.
This is real sadness I feel in my bones.
It seeps through my pores, escapes in small moans.
Sometimes, a tear, and sometimes, a flood,
Sometimes just anger boiling my blood.
How do we cope with fate worse than death,
When time only feels like holding my breath?
Hoping the course is slowed to a crawl,
Then wishing she could just be free from it all.
Where is the mercy, is it letting her go?
What’s the right thing to do and when will I know?
How I am supposed to act in a life
Void of her presence as a mother and wife?
She gave me direction, watched as I grew,
Encouraged the morals I knew to be true.
She loved me with patience, kindness, and care.
Now I’m faced with a future where she won’t be there.
It just doesn’t seem fair.
I am only twenty-two and my mom doesn’t know.
I love her too much. I’m not ready to let go.