Thinking about my mother a lot lately.
Maybe I’m finally grieving.
I honestly don’t know.
She was as tough as they come.
The only person I’ve ever feared.
Her love something her children still seek.
She didn’t like for me to go to her doctor
appointments, but on that particular day she needed help getting into Marcia
Green’s car so we decided it was best I come along.
In one split second everything changed and I’m
still picking myself up from off of the floor.
My mommy is dead and it’s a score I must settle
with myself before I can ask my creator why he killed the person who created
me.
Thinking about my mother a lot lately.
Her ashes are still here with me because I cannot
think of anywhere she’d be completely at peace.
My siblings were jealous of me from the day I was
born because my mother and I always shared a special bond that no one outside
of our bubble could possibly comprehend.
My sister only visited my mother once when she was
sick and my brother never spoke to her because holding onto his anger must have
been more important than blood and atonement.
I was named the executor of her estate because she
must have known that I was her only child who wouldn’t sell her out and
understood that her wishes were sacrosanct.
She’d stay in the bathroom for hours on end when we
were kids reading, doing the crossword and talking on the phone because I
believe that was the only place she felt safe and could dictate things on her
own terms with absolutely no blowback from anyone.
Charles Cicirella
2/12/20
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