the stranger

dirty-dead-rose-2-1258845

They had closed her eyes, but why not her mouth?
Didn’t they know there was no air left to come out?
My ability to speak, to move, to feel reality
dispelled.  I could only stare at her
this stranger fixed in the bed.  Everyone said
she was my mother.
Yet I bid no farewell
knowing it was not her, not my mother.
As we drove away I saw her there
the passenger in front of me.
Was it Monday?
Nothing else had changed, had it?
It was all the ‘same’
No it wasn’t!
The day I lost her;
my mother.

©KP

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2 thoughts on “the stranger

  1. Very poignant poem about the drastic changes that come with death leading to you regard your mother’s body as a strangers. My mother died, in a sense, 6 years before she died as she had a series of massive strokes and was left paralysed but shaking uncontrollably, with psychotic hallucinations and screaming from 5am till midnight. That was the major factor behind my addiction to cocaine. When she actually died she had degenerated further was practically catatonic and often didn’t recognise me. We decided to let her die, a decision I’m still haunted by. It’s the 10th anniversary of her death this year and I will be writing something about her in my blog bloginhotpants.com. But because of the financial security she gave me I am now able to write, so however difficult our relationship was I am grateful to her.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Caroline, thank you so much for commenting and sharing! Your experience sounds very difficult. While different than mine I am glad my poem resonated with you. My mom had suffered from cancer for 2 years leading up to her death. She was a shell of herself by the time she died. I am also haunted by those memories. Take care 🙂

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