Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Tuesday, You Are Such A TEASE

 When I swing open the door, it’s not Mom gliding up the steps in her usual breezy gait.  It’s not her smile that greets me.  Not her laugh.  Not her excited, breathless retelling of her day.
It’s not her.
“Mom?”
It’s the only word I can make my lips form as the two police officers climb up the porch steps.  It’s the only sound that leaves my throat while they stand in front of me with their sad eyes and sympathetic frowns.  It’s the only name I can think of when they ask if there’s anyone I can call. 
Anyone who can take care of me now that she’s gone.
They throw out letters and syllables like accident and died instantly and no pain, but my brain can’t seem to connect those words with the only one that truly matters to me anymore.  The only one I need to be there.

Mom.