One year ago today
I held you in my arms
as you took your last breath
You said
“Mom! Please come!”
over and over
and I replied each time
“I’m right here”
my body spooning yours
my arms wrapped around your chest
I held you while
you could only rasp
“Mom”
over and over
Your breathing slowed, became shallow
then stopped
I held you until long after one of your breaths
was not followed by another
it stopped
it stopped
it stopped
no no no no no no no no no no
was all I could say
as I cleaned your stiffening body,
and cut off a lock of your beautiful hair,
as I changed your bedding
and your clothes
tending to you one last time
one last time
no no no no no no
as I made the decisions
the calls
I found words to say to the police
I found words to say to the funeral director
I found words to say to the coroner
I wish I could remember the words I said
when I knew you were only half here already
when I had the clarity to be as freely loving
as I was when you were a baby in my arms
drawing nourishment from my body
I wish I had said those words when you were a struggling teenager
a victim of abusive schooling
poisonous medical care
and confused parenting
It has taken me a year to write this to you
It will take me the rest of my days
to forgive myself
for not saying no to the doctors and school administrators
for not being able to cure your ills
for not being able to say those words
while you could still hear them