In this latest poetry assignment, we were asked write about fog in an elegy which is often about an irreversible loss; like something you can never get back. And we’re to include metaphors in our writing. In contemplating this, I felt compelled to write about one of my deepest losses which often feels like a fresh wound that never heals. Just reliving this in my mind brought new and uncontrollable tears but I I felt some relief in writing about it and in that I am finally sharing this story. I have no doubt that it is God who comforts and gently helps me to remember even the most secret memories that are buried the deepest inside of me. I do have the comfort of knowing that she is safe and happy with Jesus in heaven.
Trying to Remember
Has it really been almost five years?
Sometimes it seems longer
And yet in my moments of anguished tears
It seems yesterday, I did hear her
These past recent years have been so
Painfully empty and void
Of her sweet presence, her cheerful face
And her laughing voice.
Oh what did she last say? I sadly forgot
I am searching through the fog
Of my many memories of my childhood home
Where I was never all alone.
My blurred memories are like the many rooms
Of our two-story, century old house
Where in the years of clutter, a recollection is hidden
like a treasure of precious gems.
She was always there spreading her love so
that there was nothing to be afraid of.
Like the scent of the freshest flowers, our house permeated
of her nurturing spirit and her gentle, soft voice.
Oh how I yearn to remember her comforting words,
Can’t I have that that wish, that one choice?
How I dream to hear her laughter and see her smiling
Once again. Oh, just one more time.
The foggy haze is still sticking and lingering in me
Not letting me remember or to see
And it won’t let me grasp what I long to know;
The last words she said on the phone.
Oh I do remember, soon Easter was coming
And I told her on the phone,
“In a few days I will see you, Mom.
In a few days I will come home.”
As we gaily chatted away, I continued,
“Mom, we’ll have a splendid Easter.
Work has granted me extra time off so
We’ll have four days together.”
But before Easter came and before
I could journey home
My mother suddenly passed away
In that big old house all alone.
She was so happy to talk to me on the phone
And joyful that I was coming to see her
Now the fog like a weakened storm has cleared
And in my mind her voice I could hear.
With an aching heart I remember my mother’s joyous tone,
“I love you and I will see you soon.”