a moon, a mom and springing forward

Tonight the moon will be super, tomorrow my mom would have turned 66. Spring has come, another season on the horizon, marking time. All of this—and my body is screaming, feeling something that I keep typing and deleting and typing and deleting (and so on).

I am having a day where words fail, then flood, then fail again. In order to just get them out (they are dragging their tin cup along my heart cage) I will just let them loose. Like the wise Yusuf (formerly Cat) sings

Oh I can’t keep it in,
I can’t keep it in, I’ve gotta let it out.

I miss you mom. I need you. Right here (taptaptap) on the sofa beside me. Count my freckles, stroke my hair. Tell me how much you love me and remind me that I matter.

I miss you dad. I don’t want to do all this now. Questions questions questions, and no one here to answer—or at least tell me what I hoped I would always hear from you, but never did. Why didn’t you put down on paper when you left what you wanted your legacy to be? You left and I am faced with the same damn truth as when you were here—and it hurts.

Full moon with your light so bright, your pull so fierce—can’t you leave me alone … please? No? Well, capitol F Fuck.

Then Lord hear my prayer and come Holy Spirit come. Drag my heart along through whatever and wherever it needs to go. Give me courage to be weak, give me patience to be kind. Send your angels and pray that I might see their feathers upon approach.

2 thoughts on “a moon, a mom and springing forward

  1. You have a beautiful way with words, Rachel. I hope they help to soothe your soul. I have no answers, but I can tell you that your mother spoke of you and your siblings ALL the time, full of love and pride. No matter what decision you made, I can guarantee you she was always confident that you would make your way; that you would have success and only wished happiness for you.

    I still have the laminated Dylan Thomas poem that Anne had in her classroom. She only posted things she strongly believed in. I know she did not go gently into the night – her final actions could NEVER have been passive; she would have fought fiercely to be with you all.

    God bless you,

    Do not go gentle into that good night,
    Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
    Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
    Because their words had forked no lightning they
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
    Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
    And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
    Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    And you, my father, there on the sad height,
    Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
    Do not go gentle into that good night.
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

  2. Oh Rachel! How I wish that I could take away your hurt, your loneliness, your frustrations, your grief, all the things that are boiling inside you and all the things that are causing you pain! Being young is so difficult sometimes because impatience and uncertainity seem to loom over everything. I’ve found that with age I’ve gradually learned to accept things that caused be so much pain for years. Accept doesn’t mean that I’ve given in to negative memories but rather I’m learing to “let go and let God” as the cliché says. I think of you often and your Mom and Dad come with my thoughts of you. I pray for peace in your heart an soul and that you will feel the love of God in very real ways. You will feel those feathers of the angels and may each one touch you with love.

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