There is a grief too deep to share
A mourning for things not yet lost
There is no understanding for those who have not lived it
There are good intentions, good wishes, good prayers but no knowledge of the searing pain that rips a mother’s heart with thoughts of memories that will not be made
Reluctance to share your fear
“be positive”
“speak life
“you have no faith”
“you have no faith”
Are the accusations your heart throws in your face while
“this will never change”
“how will I cope”
“WILL I cope?”
Rage through your over-tired mind
My heart aches from doubt and weariness
My eyes burn from tears
Too many unshed
Too many shed
Why me, why her, why us? Why not?
My back aches from carrying a body almost as long as my own, from being kicked, from being hit, from carrying the hurt
My heart hurts from the constant flow of words
“shut up”
“go away”
“NO”
From a mouth and heart that know no better
I am oh so very weary
Weary of worry
Weary of pretending not to worry
Weary of smiling and laughing while my heart breaks
Weary of carrying the burdens of others when my own are already too heavy to bear
Weary of judging those who don’t understand, who don’t know and are happy not to
Weary of the life I’ve been handed
How can I be so weary of all that but still not wish to give it up? Would I wish my girl away? NEVER! Only well and whole and complete and healed!
There is an aloneness, a difference that keeps you separate from those around you. Even those who would like to think they are your support and comfort. They are not. They are those who get to live normal lives with normal children who have all manner of idiosyncrasies that THEY will grow out of. They do not ever wonder,
“will my child ever learn to read?”
“will my child ever graduate high school?”
“will my child ever have a job?”
“will my child ever marry and have a family?”
“will my child mature past the age of four?”
“will my child live past their next birthday?”
Instead, they worry about them leaving home and starting their new adult lives.
“will she ever be able to live on her own?”
They worry about them being afraid in the night.
“will she ever be able to sleep without us worrying whether she will wake again?”
They worry about them having separation anxiety
“does she even care that I’m leaving her”
To worry is senseless. In the words of the old song …
Que sera sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.
