When the Flowers Cried

My mama may have left this earth nearly 14 years ago, yet our bond has only grown.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for walking beside me. Your presence matters, greatly. If any of this resonates, if any of you are in the grief space or want to share, kindly do reach out or leave a comment. I hope to make my sharing welcoming, whether you are a free or paid subscriber.

This time of year always brings the grief space back. I get a gnawing sadness infuse with an incredible swell of pure love.

This week, as January tiptoes to her exit, my body remembers how 14 years ago this week, the most reluctant goodbye started. Even though death and I had been friends for many years, I was not at all ready to let my mama go. I recall so clearly, looking out the hospital window, suddenly less at home in this world. That was the intense sting that permeated my thoughts — once she is gone this world will have a hole in it.

I spent so much time at the hospital, praying and searching for hope. I was also getting angry that my mama’s doctor had yet come to share the news, to give her the results of all the testing she had been through. I already knew the outcome though, she was dying. My folks were getting most impatient with the wait, and my mama just wanted the truth.

One day I was sitting in the hospital chapel, so full of primal aches of sadness, so overwhelmed with how could this even be happening. I tried talking to God, cried out to the ancestors and guides, yet they all were unusually quiet that day.

I recall feeling parts of me tremble, the salty tears flowing so much that the bunch of tissues I held barely held up. I was looking at the random bouquets of flowers perched near the altar, wondering what stories they held. At this very moment I began to hear what sounding like wailing, like guttural cries. And at that very moment, I felt a breeze, and several petals of the yellow roses in the center green vase fell to the floor. I looked around, trying to discern if someone else may have entered the chapel, perhaps they too were in deep grief, maybe they were the ones making the wailing sounds? Briefly, I imagined that perhaps the flowers were crying. I was exhausted and overwhelmed. The intersection of intense joy at the recent birth of my fourth child, pushed up against the wreck of grief that was awaiting me kept me walking between worlds.

Yet not a single other soul was in the chapel with me, the doors and windows were shut, so where on earth did the cries and breeze, come from?

Photo by Christina Deravedisian on Unsplash

Results 

what of the collapsed shadows in the corner

their knowing that 

the lurking angel of death 

would have to be invited 

this wasn't supposed to be your farewell party 

but in the somber air, the doctor told the DJ  it was time for the last dance

so 

I reached for the sun in the middle of the night 

borrowed courage from your stories

and begged the angels for more time

I told God my breath felt borrowed so could I give some back 

to you now?

In the eleventh hour we always find our courage

that's what you always said 

not sure what kept the sadness from bleeding me out 

no choice now but to say it 

since you almost surely knew 

yet he didn't 

burning truths must be surrendered

you'd have no way to stop time 

I'd have no way to contain you

as your body was fading 

your spirit was growing far too big for this world 

neither one of us ever liked endings 

yet here we were amongst the cruelest goodbye

telling you you were dying was the hardest thing I ever had to do

but you wanted the truth  

I saw you searching 

love forced me to be much braver than I was