Half a Year Ago
I haven't seen or talked to my wife in many months. The last time we shook hands and had a real conversation was six months ago before the end of the era began. I wrote a letter everytime I missed them, and wrote an average of 3 per day since last year. It feels like running on 15% every day. Not low enough for hardcore powersaving, but not enough to be utilized normally for fear it'll run empty. Always on 15% motivation, 15% productivity.
I'm resigned to it now, but it still feels emptier, even with all the work there is to do and all the time I have to reconnect with all the other friends staying home too. I miss my wife, but they're busy kickstarting their career. I understand the space and distance, it's not a choice, I really do understand. But that doesn't make it suck any less. Knowing where you're going doesn't help the fact you have to get there.
My mom
“Never eye to eye,
but always heart to heart”.
That’s how my relationship with my mom has been. We argue over the most trivial things, have a difference of opinion on most matters, and it was only a few years ago that I realised how much she means to me.
My mom has shaped me in many ways- imparting a love for reading, encouraging me to participate in debate and quiz competitions, and exhorting me to strive for excellence in all spheres. She has been my biggest role model since I was a child. She did not cook for us very often (though when she did, the results would be finger-licking delicious), because she was busy at work. I can’t recall her telling us bedtime stories, but she set an example through her work ethic, unimpeachable integrity, courtesy and kindness. When she was transferred to another town for almost a year, I was shattered. My studies went for a toss. It didn’t feel like home without her.
I wouldn’t say that my mom is my best friend. There have been subjects, such as my mental health, that she either does not realise the gravity of or disagrees with me on. So I no longer tell her about these things. Yet, I cannot imagine a life without her. My cousin recently lost his mother and seeing his grief shook me to the core. I realised that I should be grateful for having my parents, and should be more loving. You see, my mom doesn’t just mean the world to me, she is my world.
Happy mother’s day y’all
On mother’s day, I live on a deserted island. Not just this year because of Covid-19. Every year since my birth. I sincerely mean it when I say, I hate to go negative. It takes every ounce of my being every day to smile, to stay positive when my childhood was literally a clusterfuck. My mother was an abusive alcoholic and let’s just say I was her hockey puck and leave it at that. I forgave her a long time ago, long before she died of alcohol related illness at 56 years old. I am a firm believer in moving on, in leaving the past behind, but as well, let there be no misunderstanding, child abuse leaves permanent scars.
As to your question, what would I do if she wasn’t there? I cannot give you a definitive answer, but I’d like to think I would have made better choices in my life.
I am proud to say, in spite of the person who gave birth to me, I raised three amazing children that love me. Our love is unconditional and yes, good children can be raised without lifting a hand to them. I can attest to that. So every year when I see posts that say let’s give it up to your Mom, I cannot personally jump on that bandwagon for mine, and that is okay, because there are a whole lot of moms out there that are the bomb and I salute them, one and all! Including, pat on back, myself!
P. S. I do not understand why this challenge does not have more entries!
Here is one I published earlier.
When I think about her,
My eyes go all blur,
A thought takes over my mind,
And I become blind...
Blinded by her love,
Ah, so pretty like a dove,
A shoulder to cry on,
A friendship to rely on.
Pampered by her care,
Her warmth so rare,
Strength to hide behind
When fear takes over my mind
Every day she grows a bit older,
But the same strength on her shoulder,
She gets some white hair,
But, smile still full of glare.
God moulded her heart of gold,
She is so caring yet so bold.
She is the shining star in my life,
Not only is she a great mother,
But an excellent wife.
There are worse things than death
I am alone.
It never crossed my mind that it could come to this. I have had nightmares all my life, but not one touched the reality of my life today.
It happened slowly at first.
Everyone stayed inside so much, no one really noticed when friends and neighbors stopped coming out of their homes; when the city streets overflowing with garbage and rodents stayed empty of people. With the recent, ongoing plague, everyone assumed when they stopped seeing someone on Zoom or at their window, stopped hearing from them, that the worst had happened. That death had arrived sooner than expected. No one realized the slow, insidious, relentless tendrils of Death were reaching out across the globe, choking all life in its path.
Overwhelmed hospitals and clinics closed their doors, one by one, as medical staff gave up or perished. The sick and the dying, died at home.
It took a while before I realized the problem was greater than I had imagined. Garbage collection ceased. Happily living in a small town, I composted what I could, burned some and stored cans and such things in the garage. Within weeks of each other, gas and electric were shut off for reasons unknown. No one, not even an automated voice, answered my calls. Constant busy signal. Water continued to run, and for that, I was grateful.
And then, death arrived at my door: I lost my entire family within a month and by the time my beautiful daughter closed her eyes for the last time, there was no one to call to remove the body, no cemetery or crematorium, no morgue or funeral home had anyone still working. My calls went unanswered. I reached out to neighbors to help, but no one answered the door. I dug a grave as best I could, and buried her in our back garden.
Not soon after, news programs stopped running; only constant streaming of old programming became available. Radio stations went dark or played the same playlists over and over. No one but me was posting on social media.
For a little over a week, my calls for food delivery have gone unanswered. Websites have had constant error messages and have stopped accepting orders.
For the first time in a year, I left my home today. I was hungry.
I walked the empty streets in awe of the utter and complete silence save the sound of birds chirping.
I arrived at a market whose doors were open: Food on shelves was sparse; what little produce and meat remained was spoiled and smelled; the aisles, empty. No cashiers. No manager making the occasional announcement. No one. My footsteps echoed loudly. My heart raced and I began to sweat.
I found a few cans of tuna fish, some baked beans and a jar of peanut butter. I serviced myself and tried to pay with my credit card. It gave an error message. I had no cash. Feeling guilty, I took my purchases and left.
I walked quickly, ran really, my heart pounding. How was this possible?
How is this possible?
Am I the only person left? And if I am not, how will I find others? And if I find others, who is to say I would not be safer alone, in my home?
Night will fall soon and I don’t know if I will sleep. I was always afraid of the dark and the nightmares that peppered my dreams. Of the shadows that hid monsters. Of death awaiting.
Now I am just afraid, because...
I am alone.
Koinonos
I drank a glass of love
With you.
Getting high on emotions
Every night.
Felt the bitter taste
Of Intentions by closing my eyes.
Neglecting the hangover
Of Abandonment.
It happened for days on end.
The Addiction added up
At your every sight.
One day I realised to slow down
The drops of time.
That morning I thought to check
The label of the bottle
It said "Absinthe of Lie"
I ran to rehabilitation
There I experienced
Withdrawal symptoms
Of Lust.
Struggled with
Tattoos of Shame
And Breaths of
Cuss.
Took me years to be better
Then I walked out
In the World of Desires.
I promised myself
Not be the Slave
Of the Attire.
Still it was tough
Watching people drink
The Poison of Love.
I went on with my life
Drinking glasses
Of Friendships
And Blood.
They felt sweet
Filled with Compassion
And Trust.
One evening I went to a bar
Before I could order
I saw a man breaking
The bottles
Of Deception.
He looked frustrated at this
Environment of Bluff.
Sat close to me and drank water.
Famously known as
The Drink of Sanity.
He stared my Gaze
And I stared his Maze.
I started talking
Feeling deviated
From my Promise.
Without him knowing
I ordered a sparkling
Apple juice.
To see if I'll be used.
He kept on listening
To me.
Sunset arose and we planned
To meet in the next nightfall.
He chose to be
Same and Sane.
Unbeknownst to him
I poured
Cranes of Berries.
I decanted out my truth
By faking
The Sips of Sham.
Every Eventide
I gulped juices
Of Grapes so sour
Of Watermelons so heavy
Of Beetroot so bitter
Of Strawberries so many
Even drank
Pomegranates so tiny
Tried Mocktails
With a cherry.
And he went on with his
Water of Purity
Water of Spirituality
Water of Healing
Water of Protection
He simply smiled
Whenever his glass broke.
He held my hand
While I made the
Cocktail
He inhaled my malaise
And said,
"There's no need to
Sail in the barrels
Of fear.
Always remember
I'll dive into you
Even when you're
Stale."
At this I exhaled
With corrupt liquor
Going out of my veins.
There was no point
In asking the drunkards
When I could see
The innocence
Of his untangled Reflections
Testifying his present
And true past.
As I stepped in the next day
He went on one knee
In the bar which now had
Broken Bottles.
He made sure I didn't
Got hurt by
The Pieces of Glasses
Or Drowned in the
Drinks of Masses.
We respired as
He politely said,
"Addictions are bad!
I don't want you to
Get enslaved
To Alcohol
Or Me."
×∞ Adin
1 May 2020
Carry on
My father died. Two days before my son was born. That happens to be exactly 27 years ago today.
I was on bed rest when he died. My mother called my husband and told him to go outside to a pay phone – it was the days before cell phones – but to be surreptitious about it so that I wouldn’t realize anything was going on.
And so, she told him and they cried together, him somewhere in the streets of Philadelphia, her in her home in New York. And they decided not to tell me until after the birth – their logic being that they didn’t want to affect me or the baby in some negative way.
I don’t’ know how I didn’t notice red eyes or a grieving soul. I usually read my husband’s every mood and feeling. But not that day.
Two days later, I slept poorly and assumed it was the greasy burger and fries my husband had cooked for dinner. Did I mention that I had been on bed rest for four months and hadn’t seen my dad since Christmas when he was bursting with excitement for the grandson or granddaughter in my belly? He went on and on about the things they would do together, the most important being fishing. He couldn’t wait to go fishing. Sometimes that is what makes me cry more than just his death: the knowing how excited he was about his first, would be, grandson. And they never met except perhaps in transit as one soul left and another came to me.
So, two days after my husband and mother decided not to tell me, I got sick in the middle of the night. Except I wasn’t sick. I was going into labor. We called the doctor and my mother. Then we called a taxi to take us to the hospital.
A little over five hours later, I gave birth. As I lay there with my beautiful son on my chest, the doctor said, “Oh, by the way, your husband and your mom didn’t want to tell you before, but your dad died on Monday.”
The nurse’s jaw dropped as did that of the midwife and the midwife intern. I suspect I burst into tears, but I really don’t remember.
I guess there would never have been a good moment to tell me. And perhaps in the face of this new life in my arms, it was the best moment really. There is no time to fall apart and grieve when a new little human needs you like you have never been needed before.
And so, you do what you must, and carry on.
Daddy’s little girl (repost)
“I miss you, Daddy,” she whimpers
crying in the night
holding her dear teddy bear
waiting for daylight
hoping against hope
that when she opens her eyes
Daddy will be there
and give everyone a surprise;
They keep saying he’s not coming back
that he’s gone to be with God
but she’s praying he’s just hiding
though that thinking is flawed
for she saw him lying in the church
saw them put him in the ground
watched them cover him with dirt
placed flowers on the mound.
She burrows under the blankets
hugs her teddy to her heart
quietly listens to the silence
for a whisper in the dark;
if she listens closely,
she’s certain that it’s true,
she’ll hear her daddy say to her
“Darlin’, I miss you, too.”