"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Why are you crying?"
"I am sad."
"Why are you sad?"
"My heart is hurting."
"Why does it hurt?"
"It is broken."
She scurries away.
I ask her what she is up to.
She returns, glue stick in hand.
"We'll fix this right up!"
She kisses my cheek.
No need for the glue stick.
I feel much better already.
I push your memory away, most days
because the pain is too much to acknowledge.
But in the silence of the night
or at the glimpse of your image
you are suddenly here.
I wish my arms could penetrate death
so I could hug you one last time.
Or that my voice could travel beyond the uncrossable chasm
in my desire to tell you "Goodbye."
The reality, is still, too fresh to be dealt with.
I'm comfortable in my denial.
Admitting your permanent absence
would mean that I have to leave this place,
the strange corner of my mind
where I'm allowed the ridiculous
delusions of your continued presence.
Someday I'll be forced to crawl out
into the reality that is your death.
But for now, I'll stay.
It's strange to me, the hate some sow.
Toward people whom they really do not know.
Am I not human, allowed to be imperfect?
Rushing tides of criticism of which I am the subject.
I seek to be truthful and know that it may cost me.
If you expect me to understand your judgement...I'll admit that you've lost me.
I open up to the world, in attempt to create inner healing.
When judgement turns to personal attacks, the hurt just sends me reeling.
I refuse to let them get me down and walk away defeated.
I'll soldier on, ignore the hate and know that my forgiveness is needed.
They know not how they hurt me, but words will not spill blood.
So I'll forgive the judgement, hate and slinging of their mud.
I forgive you.
