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My Beautiful Distrastous Home

I am unable to cry. It is stuck in my throat pushing at my eyes and suffocates my chest. I went to Texas to see her but I arrived too late. I never got to whisper in her ear just how much I love her. I wanted to apologize for ever doubting her, for not spending more time with her. I stood there before her. Lost in my grief.   There she is……….dead.
I cannot whisper in her ear. Before me lays a shell, a mere vessel used to survive this world. I know she is somewhere. I feel it. Yet, I feel lonely, broken and abandoned.
I stare out her deathbed window. It is a beautiful day. Crisp sunny with a steady breeze. Mesmerized I watch the Texas flag whip against the wind.
I allow my mind to wander as a flood of memories, flood of fails and victories. I realize at this moment I lost my home. Tears slide down my cheek. Outwardly I silently cry.  No expression just vacant glass stare as the waterfall of my eyes soak my shirt. Inside I rage, I beg her to breathe, to open her eyes, to say something damn it ! I collapse into myself. I am going to truly miss her. Who is going to love me now? that unconditional love a mother carries for her child. She was my friend, my protector, my guide, and my warrior. There is no one, will be no one after  who will have her loyalty as she gave to me. Her loyalty was never torn to serve another. She never justified her loyalty to me. I never knew how much I love her. I see her faults but through clearer eyes. Her intentions yet good became catastrophic and yet I find myself smiling. In this very moment I finally understand every pain she felt, every worry, and every tear.
Why? Why did I have to come to realize this now? Is every child cursed with this? Do my own children not know my worth? Do they know of my loyalty?
I always held my mother immortal. Am I immortal?

My mom spent my life trying to make up for something. I want to tell her that she never did anything wrong. She was never malicious. Does she hear my thoughts? Must I speak out loud for her to hear? Or did she always carry the faith that one day I will come to understand her? Did she have this much faith in me?

Standing before her I allow my eyes to travel down her body. I start at her head. Her eyes are closed but I can see them smiling and laughing towards me. I strain to hear her voice. My eyes stop and rest at her hands. I look at my own searching for resemblance. I vaguely catch a glimpse. Or maybe it was wishful thinking? I am desperate to carry something of her with me.  I had forgotten I have her eyes, the color of her hair and certain expressions mirrors her own. It is important for me to have her hands. Why is this so important to me? If she goes, do I go? Do I not exist without her? Why ?  Why her hands? I cry harder because my hands are not like hers they are just hands. my hands…unlike hers.

My mother, a talented artist. Even in death she creates beauty.  Am I talented?  What am I without her?   It did not occur to me the absurdity of my thoughts. My mind swirls with all the connections I have with my mom. Everything became chaotic around me. The void of nothing feasts upon my flesh. I am nothing, nothing without her.  I can’t see the beauty in me. The only beautiful scenery I can imagine is my mother laughing.  Her laughter haunts me.  Now, my mother lays before me quietly. No more laughter.  I stand motionless against the gust of wind in the void around me. Darkness blurs my vision, chokes my chest, and mocks at my misery.  Then in an instant, I am back. Back in that hospital room with my dead mother.

Without knowing what to say and mask my grief, I tell her it was a good day to die. I ask her to visit me often and always offer me guidance. I know she will do everything I ask of her because no matter in this life, my life or any other she will always be my mother. Always my protector.

I lean down and kiss her forehead. My sobs stick in my throat. Even in death, I want to show her how brave I am. Make her proud. My body shook, my head explodes.   All of a sudden I want to smash the window, throw chairs around the room. I am angry. She is NOT supposed to die! I scream inside my head, it rips at my heart and slices my soul. Heaven and Hell battle within me.  I don’t  think I can survive. The flesh on my bones begin to burn and my eyes only see the blur image of my mother. “Don’t leave me” I beg silently. My mother is taking something from me that I will never find again.

She is taking my home. She is my home. My beautiful disastrous home.

27 thoughts on “My Beautiful Distrastous Home”

  1. Hello there! I know this is kinda off topic however ,
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  3. Hiya! I know this is kinda off topic however I’d figured I’d ask.
    Would you be interested in exchanging links or maybe guest authoring a
    blog article or vice-versa? My website discusses a lot of the same subjects as yours and I feel we could greatly benefit from each other.
    If you might be interested feel free to shoot me an email.
    I look forward to hearing from you! Awesome blog by the way!

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