Sometimes losing you makes me feel untethered.
I’m far from being a little kid,
But even in adulthood
Your unconditional love provided
A grounding
That feels scary now that it’s gone.
I remember maybe six years ago
When my kids and I visited your house
After the trip,
My son told me his blanket had a new smell.
I held it to my nose and breathed you in.
“That’s my Mom,” I told him, “That’s comfort.”
When your memory got foggy
The untethering began.
I became a caregiver, our roles swapped.
Even so, the last time we walked together
I apologized that I didn’t bring the kids.
You told me it was me you wanted to see.
I’m so old – my body is changing in ways
I thought were just for old ladies.
But how do I go through the rest of my life
Without a Mom?
Without my Mom?
I don’t think I’m old enough for that.
I reach for something to hold on to.
I wonder who I am without you,
And reflect on who I am because of you.
In moments when I feel alive and present,
I whisper, “I’m living, Mom!”
And the bond I thought I lost reveals itself once more.
