By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee
I reached out into the air
Reaching toward something unseen
Hoping to find … to hold my son’s hand
I felt nothing as I held my hand out
I moved my hand back … forward as if
I was moving a curtain so I could see
Again … nothing was there
I closed my eyes … a warm tear flowed down
My cheek … as I stood there
I bowed my head into my hands
Knowing I will go through the rest of my life
Searching thin air … hoping to find my son
You who haven’t lost a child can’t understand
How can you when you have your child
You think … thank God it’s her … not me
I’m glad you can think that way
So you won’t be searching for your child
Hoping for something to come from thin air
Note by this Author … Grieving Mother
A grieving mother is always searching for her child … be it a likeness or a sound, scent. This grieving mother hopes to just get to speak a few moments with her son … if it can happen to someone else … it can to her, also.
The grief gets easier over years … it never goes away. It’s like the fish underneath the water … it can jump out any moment. Like the splashes of water from the fish … grief lashes at a grieving mother’s heart. No, it never goes away … it’s always beneath the surface laying low until a likeness, sound, scent triggers it … like the bait on a fishing pole. Sometimes … a big fish … sometimes, a little fish.
Whether people like it or not who knows a grieving mother … whether grief makes them uncomfortable or not … doesn’t matter. Grief is there whether one likes it or not. It’s a fact of life. We live, we die … we are one way or the other.
Poem/photo written/owned by Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee.