for ash
You told me I could talk about her but I didn’t, whats death between old but new friends? Its just some elses pain. We all die, we all live. I struggle with that.
When I was 19 my mother died of secondary lymphatic cancer. I have said that a few times in my life. She was 48, twice the age my sister was turning on that exact day. There were only three flowers left on the new bouganvillia, the day before there were four. My dad picked them and pressed them.
My sister had an exam that day, I had been asleep and when I woke up the silver chain nurse was in mums room. That’s how death begins. But it ends slowly, graspingly, hesitantly sometimes she wondered if she had been dying for all these years, sometimes I wonder if I noticed. I had never seen a dead body, I haven’t seen one since. I had never seen a cremation inside its just another log to burn. I had never seen grey bones and flesh dust. But now I have, as do we all at some stage and if im honest sometimes im bitter for my loss, sometimes im angry. Its not useful these feelings but they come like guilt without thought. I want her here sometimes, I want her to eat cake or drink wine. For her to have those years where she can relax, nag my sister about having a baby, prod me for any boy goss. I want to want it more for her than for me but I don’t. there are births and jobs and life particles I want her in. I am a child again wanting everything. Life makes us adults and death makes us children. It’s a mixture of hurt and guilt and foot stomping tantrum, I haven’t moved on, I don’t know how you do. People do I guess, I seem to just collect my past and sling it over my shoulder, its big, kind of like a house, maybe I can live in it when my lease expires.
When I was 19 my mother died of secondary lymphatic cancer. I have said that a few times in my life. She was 48, twice the age my sister was turning on that exact day. There were only three flowers left on the new bouganvillia, the day before there were four. My dad picked them and pressed them.
My sister had an exam that day, I had been asleep and when I woke up the silver chain nurse was in mums room. That’s how death begins. But it ends slowly, graspingly, hesitantly sometimes she wondered if she had been dying for all these years, sometimes I wonder if I noticed. I had never seen a dead body, I haven’t seen one since. I had never seen a cremation inside its just another log to burn. I had never seen grey bones and flesh dust. But now I have, as do we all at some stage and if im honest sometimes im bitter for my loss, sometimes im angry. Its not useful these feelings but they come like guilt without thought. I want her here sometimes, I want her to eat cake or drink wine. For her to have those years where she can relax, nag my sister about having a baby, prod me for any boy goss. I want to want it more for her than for me but I don’t. there are births and jobs and life particles I want her in. I am a child again wanting everything. Life makes us adults and death makes us children. It’s a mixture of hurt and guilt and foot stomping tantrum, I haven’t moved on, I don’t know how you do. People do I guess, I seem to just collect my past and sling it over my shoulder, its big, kind of like a house, maybe I can live in it when my lease expires.
posted by kel at 6:44 AM
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