Two Stickers

There are two yellow stickers now.

Overlapping, a year and a half apart -

 but they tell the same story.

They say: visitor.

Visitor driving, racing in the rain.

Visitor in the lobby asking to be let in, 

asking for answers slow to come.

They tell the date.

Dates that the memory will not hold.

Dates that are blurred and twisted into funny jokes,

the pain creating details of the jumbled mess.

They say her name.

A name picked out years before existence

A name freely given, bought by love.

one day to be unspoken.

They tell the story.

A story of heartache,fear, life and near death.

One that will be remembered for years,

forgotten within seconds. Two sides to each sticker,

Yellow flashes, the other sticks.

Hide and Seek

I am a champion of hide and seek.

Finding the dark corners

I fold myself in two, fourths, sevenths-

Until I am small enough to go unseen.

The light shines, but doesn’t find me.

I am not in there, I cannot be found in the wide open spaces.

That is not me, that is who you pretend I am.

She is the one you find,

The one you elate in

The one who inspires you to yell, “I’ve got her! I know where she is; I see her!”

But that is not me.

That’s why you can’t see.

You are so delighted to have her – a projection, a falsity

you don’t even notice that I’ve disappeared;

folded in on myself completely.

Ninths, elevenths, twelfths.

I fold and refold until I begin to break.

But you can’t see, you don’t care, to you I’m not even there.

You have what you want and have no need for me or the side you don’t want to see.

Split yourself in two,

Push one way down deep.

That’s how you win hide and seek.

The Secret

I haven’t told you yet

I haven’t told you because I’m terrified.

I don’t know how to tell you because this is you.

In so many ways I’ll have to go through it again

I’ll have to watch the same struggles,

Answer the same questions

But this time it’ll be you that’s gone.

And bringing it up will make it come faster

I’m certain that the moment I put the thought in your head,

It won’t let go.

Your brain will take it and push it into being

Suddenly it will all be true.

And this time I’ll be the one alone.

So I’m not telling you.

You won’t understand,

You don’t understand I can’t.

I can’t let this happen because I cannot do this.

In no way am I ready.

I distance myself because it already hurts,

So how would I go through this?

I can’t do it, because next it will be you.

Next I’ll be watching you leave

Watching you fade away

And what if I’m not strong enough.

How will I ever do it all without you?

I don’t have sixty years,

I barely got twenty.

How will I tell you?

I won’t.

A Prayer to St. Jude

Who remembers the children,

lonely, scared, and cold?

Do we ever speak of them

make sure their stories are told?

We whisper years of the one who did it,

murmur how it was wrong.

But only the child for a moment,

then the tears are gone.

It hurts too much

so they say.

And yet I hold onto,

all he suffered that day.

I remember and I imagine

 the emotions he went through.

I never could completely understand,

what it meant to be you.

To watch the one you loved so much,

transform mother to monster.

Were you forced to see,

losing you changed her.

How long did it take you to understand,

 guess what was about to come?

Questions spilling from your mouth,

until the rope was hung?

I pray you never understood,

I pray fear never broke through,

I pray you only knew love.

I pray every day for you,

My Jude.

A Very Rough Draft

I risked a speeding ticket on my way to her. I ran into my car, rushed over the icy paths, and risked my life in order to reach her on time. Fear and panic blinded me - what if I didn't make it, what if she left without getting to say goodbye, what if? My eyes strained against the darkness as I drove the two hours to the hospital.

There were other Easter Vigils where we didn't sit by each other. But that separation was brought on by the importance of serving at mass or singing in the church choir - never had it been anything so permanent. Before, she would be looking up at me from a pew, smiling with an unending joy to see her only daughter participating in the mass that way. But now, just three days ago, she had accused me of kidnapping her, of forcing her to join a cult. At that moment I knew, if we ever attended another vigil together we would not be sitting by each other. I knew that I had lost her and I hadn't been able to say goodbye.

My mother, my best friend, entered the tomb of her own mind - the dementia has taken over and I'm afraid to roll away the stone and see what is left. The women who went to attend Jesus, they were greeted by angels...I fear the devil. I am scared to be with her. I am scared to be a daughter who can't handle this change. I'm scared that when I roll away the stone the tomb will be empty.

Mary and the others found Jesus. Yes, he looked different, but they knew it was him by the fire lit in their souls. Fear is blinding me to the flame that is my mother. How can I see the strong, fierce woman who raised me, when I am terrified of the weak body and mind in front of me?

Easter is a time of resurrection and joy, but now I only see anxiety and stress. I see hours of repeating answers, reminding her where the bathroom is, and the pressure to be the supportive daughter. Easter doesn't mean a time of celebration for me any more...nor does any other holiday. Now, now it is all darkness and my eyes strain as I drive. My destination no more clear than it was that night two years ago - but I keep looking, hoping to find anything that might, at least, be a tiny bit familiar.