I’ve written about my mother often, for all the right reasons (I love her, I cherish her memory, she’s a vital part of my ongoing existence, etc.), and I find myself obliged to return, not infrequently, to the subject of her untimely death (which begs the question: when is a death not untimely? Aren’t all of us fighting a battle against a clock we can’t control? Perhaps we can agree that any death is unwelcome, except when it isn’t, and that’s usually when illness is involved, and then things get profoundly complicated).
My mother was the subject of the memoir Please Talk about Me When I’m Gone, which I was honored to receive the Memoir Magazine Prize for Books for in 2022. In addition to writing about my favorite person, and the lingering influence she exerts over my life, I also hoped to share some of my family’s experience in the hopes that it might inform and inspire others. Suffice it to say, the way we deal, as individuals and as a society, with terminal illness leaves much to be desired, and the first remedy is open and honest communication, however unwelcome.
This cycle of poems deals with “mommy issues” in, hopefully, all the right ways and for all the right reasons! The first of this three-poem cycle is below. Huge gratitude, once again, to The Good Men Project for publishing more of my work, and a big shout out to the fathers everywhere who kept it real for the kids. (Link to these two and all the previous poems here.)
A Middle-Aged Boy Mourns His Mother
You know that woman you saw in the grocery store, stocking up on frozen vegetables and paper towels, tissue and toilet paper for her family? That was my mother, too.
That woman who waved at you when you stopped to let her cross the street in front of you? That was my mother, too.
That woman who cut you off on the freeway, then flipped the finger when you laid on your horn? That was my mother, too.
That woman on TV sewing a blanket for her first grandchild, or bringing out pumpkin pie after Thanksgiving dinner? That was my mother, too.
That woman who carried you in her womb, raised you and then sent you off into the world, smiling beneath her tears? That’s my mother, too.
