12 May 2007

A Mother's Grief

by Kelly Cummings

You ask me how I'm feeling,
but do you really want to know?
The moment I try telling you
you say you have to go.

How can I tell you,
what it's been like for me?
I am haunted, I am broken
by things that you can't see.

You ask me how I'm holding up,
but do you really care?
The second I try to speak my heart,
you start squirming in your chair.

Because I am so lonely,
you see, no one comes around.
I take the words I want to say
and quietly choke them down.

Everyone avoids me now
because they don't know what to say.
They tell me I'll be there for you,
then turn and walk away.

Call me if you need me.
That's what everybody said.
But how can I call you and scream into the phone
"My God, my child is dead!"?

No one will let me say
the words I need to say.
Why does a mother's grief
scare everyone away?

I am tired of pretending
as my heart pounds in my chest.
I say things to make you comfortable,
but my soul finds no rest.

How can I tell you things
that are too sad to be told;
of the helplessness of holding a child
who in your arms grows cold?

Maybe you can tell me
how should one behave
who's had to follow their child's casket,
watched it perched above a grave?

You cannot imagine
what it was like for me that day.
To place a final kiss upon that box,
and have to turn and walk away.

If you really love me,
and I believe you do;
if you really want to help me,
here is what I need from you.

Sit down beside me.
Reach out and take my hand.
Say, "My friend, I've come to listen.
I want to understand".

Just hold my hand and listen.
That's all you need to do.
And if by chance I shed a tear
it's alright if you do too.

I swear that I'll remember
till the day I'm very old
the friend who sat and held my hand
and let me bare my soul.

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