Letters to the editor

 January 20^th, 2011

Dear Mom,

I couldn’t save you.

I couldn’t stop time forever.

I couldn’t give you years at a better age

Or restore your health to youthful days.

I couldn’t fight the parts of you that sought

To spite your strength and wilt your gaze.

I couldn’t take the blame.

I couldn’t find a way to make you free.

I could only hope and plead for these

So I wished for all of this in dreams

And whispered it with lips as desperate as disease.

I knelt beside your bed and wept.

And dwelled within your hanging breath.

I wiped blood spittle from your callused chin

And rubbed your feet to see you grin.

You caught me with my tears and my want and my woe. 

You acknowledged my fears by confessing your own. 

You conceded in that moment that you didn’t want to die.

You required my vigor and begged me not to cry.

You saw me come and go in the days that passed.

You never left my thoughts or wandered from my grasp.

You were the fighter and quite a beautiful pugilist,

A toast every night to your IV-ice chip-popsicle Eucharist.

You were an obelisk of grit, but a pillar of fragility,

Erected on a rock with hairline cracks in its facility.

You tipped when earth shook the fissure loose.

And left the dust and rubble for us to sinter truth.

We gather now here with your hope and your peace your and memories.

We speak and breathe and dream your energy.

We laugh and cry and dine on anecdotes that echo your voice.

We raise glass after glass flowing over with your poise.

We visit the places and points that you held dear and true.

And welcome you on the winds that give the years their youth.

October 28^th, 2011

Dear Mom,

I made my own costume this year. I still have your sewing machine and I’m not afraid of the pedal anymore. I think I’ve started to get the hang of this thing finally. Anyway, I made Super Mario costume, the one with the raccoon tail and the ears on the hat; it’s pretty silly I know, but so was the one you and I made last year. I still have that thing, it’s all covered in red wine or something, but it was the last time that you showed me how to do something creative in life. I’m pretty proud of the things you have taught me. I get compliments all of the time about what a great host I am. We had a barbeque this summer and I made so much food we had to invite my neighbors over to finish it all. That’s you through me, you know. You and dad were always the most welcoming people; giving all that you had to make everyone feel a little more comfortable.

February 15^th, 2016

Dear Mom,

I planted tulips in a small wooden box outside our kitchen window. They’re yellow with those deep red centers like the ones that I got you in Holland. They’re perennial just as you are now. I put them in the window right in front of the sink so as I cook I can watch them bloom. They will remind of you and how you always kept your kitchen spotless. I have that pizza truck now; we’re rolling right along as planned. I named it “Rocky’s”. Now we just need a trailer with some fooseball tables to pull along with it. I’m still trying to hit those sliding bank shots from the one-man. How did you ever get that down anyway?

May 6^th, 2021

Dear Mom,

Ann took her first steps today. She’s been falling for weeks now, struggling to balance on those short little legs. But just as stubborn as you, she finally worked out the movements and made it from the couch to the table and back. We’re so proud I wish you could be here to spoil her. Remember when you would go rollerblading with us even though the skates made your claves swell up and I could tell you were in pain. It took me a long time to realize the things you did to make us happy.

September 9^th, 2032

Dear Mom,

You’d be 80 today! We had a crazy summer this year, even a whole week in the hundreds, plenty of time to lie in the sun and tan all day. I’m so dark from chasing the kids around the pool. It made me think about how we used to compete by putting our forearms side by side to see who had deeper skin tone. I’m taking a drive up to Tyler’s grave this evening to say hi to both of you. I haven’t been up there in years; please forgive me.