It wasn’t until I had passed through security
and found my way into Concourse B
that I found myself sinking into a chair
across from a giant Vienna Beef poster
and began to weep. And once they began,
the tears wouldn’t stop. Nor did I try
to stop them. I had wondered in the ICU
where they were. Had wondered
again at my parents’ home. It was strange
to be so level—not cold, really, and not numb,
but oddly steeled. It was a relief, really,
to sob into my hands. To let grief take over.
To be a maidservant to fragility.
What a gift to be sideswiped with the truth
of our vulnerability. What a blessing
to be baptized in my own helplessness.
Over the loudspeaker, they announced
that a plane was delayed. As if any of us
really know when we’ll depart, when we’ll arrive.
When the tears dried, I stood. Walked
to my gate recalibrated. Called my parents
again because I could. Because I could.
In the window, I smiled at my watery reflection,
how it almost wasn’t there at all.
I know the feeling. In caring for my parents through their last journeys, I just went into a different place during the crisis points, knowing they needed my strength and calm resolve. But, oh, there were always quiet moments when I learned to let myself fall apart, let the tears come, so I could go on and once again be strong, for them, for myself.
Thank you, Mary, for sharing your story here, too … we are so in this together.
How powerful, and how blessed … the ability to let go (for there is only so much we should hold things together before we can find relief, if we can find relief…), and to be, and to know that it is as it should be, to be able to do so. Glad for the watery reflection in the window. Glad you could call your parents, and I hope that the stress that formed a lump inside you all will now ease into the soft surrender of knowing a crisis had passed.
Take gentle care …
Na’ama
thank you, dear friend. I feel so blessed by your thoughtful, soul-ful responses.
🙂 so glad to know. 🙂
Wow — this is so on-the-nose. Beautiful!
Thank you, dear Drew … yeah, I am guessing most of us have been there, have had that moment of release, that surrender to our humanity. big hugs to you, r
‘As if any of us / really know when we’ll depart, when we’ll arrive’. How perfect Rosemerry. Grateful to you for sharing your tender heart and sending much love, Jan
Thank you, Jan … yes, it’s been a lot of considering mortality lately. I’ve never been more aware. Thank you for receiving the poems, for writing back. xo