A good part of mourning my mother took the form of giving her away: of letting her go to have her own life again unmediated by how I had known her as a son. Mother may be one of the most difficult names of all to to shed, but it felt important in coming to terms with who my mother might have been to imagine her before any of us were in her life, looking into her future and guided once again, only by her own eyes. DW
It is beautiful and serendipitous energy that this poem appears on Substack on this day, June 14th. My mother, who passed in 2015, would have been 93 today. Her love of nature and art were divine blessing in how I now see the world.
it’s auspicious that I opened my email this morning and received the prompt to read this poem. I am 85 and I have come out of a 4 1/2 week recovery from a fall in my back garden. After a trip to urgent care, I wore a leg brace on my left leg and had to relearn how to move around in my world. The first week I was in despair I thought oh dear, this is the beginning of the end of this part of my life . I have been attending your three Sundays series for three years. it got me through Covid and the isolation when I gave up the classes I was teaching and now this last series and this poem today my inner crazy is discovering how to come out in a way that people will understand me without labeling me a crazy old woman. thank you.
I am always moved by the sorrow and joy in their unique combination in this poem. And today is my late husband's birthday, so the echoes will be singing in my heart/mind all day. Thank you.
This, on the anniversary of my mother’s death, 2015. Blighted by Alzheimer’s for her last seven years I’ve been trying, unsuccessfully, to remember her as she was. Until now, that is, and the power of poetry.
A good part of mourning my mother took the form of giving her away: of letting her go to have her own life again unmediated by how I had known her as a son. Mother may be one of the most difficult names of all to to shed, but it felt important in coming to terms with who my mother might have been to imagine her before any of us were in her life, looking into her future and guided once again, only by her own eyes. DW
It is beautiful and serendipitous energy that this poem appears on Substack on this day, June 14th. My mother, who passed in 2015, would have been 93 today. Her love of nature and art were divine blessing in how I now see the world.
it’s auspicious that I opened my email this morning and received the prompt to read this poem. I am 85 and I have come out of a 4 1/2 week recovery from a fall in my back garden. After a trip to urgent care, I wore a leg brace on my left leg and had to relearn how to move around in my world. The first week I was in despair I thought oh dear, this is the beginning of the end of this part of my life . I have been attending your three Sundays series for three years. it got me through Covid and the isolation when I gave up the classes I was teaching and now this last series and this poem today my inner crazy is discovering how to come out in a way that people will understand me without labeling me a crazy old woman. thank you.
I am always moved by the sorrow and joy in their unique combination in this poem. And today is my late husband's birthday, so the echoes will be singing in my heart/mind all day. Thank you.
Indeed looking is tantamount. Prescience— delightful perspective. Time is not what we may think it is? Thank for your words and wisdom ♥️
Wow.
What a poem.
I am stunned, with no additional words, except these.
This, on the anniversary of my mother’s death, 2015. Blighted by Alzheimer’s for her last seven years I’ve been trying, unsuccessfully, to remember her as she was. Until now, that is, and the power of poetry.
Grateful for this reflection and insight! Speaks so much to me of the past and future in this very present moment, even breath! Thank you David!!