Yesterday I was holding on to life–
and then it was gone.
Like a breeze blowing away…
Death’s one kindness; the lifeless body stayed warm.
My heart broke into pieces.
Death whispered in my ear,
“See how fragile…?”
Life simply left, how could this happen so…fast?
How many mothers wished for that last time to be with their children who died for a cause?
How many mothers relived over and over in their minds that moment because they didn’t want their child to suffer, to hurt, to especially be alone? How many have put themselves into that lost picture holding their child when war stripped them of existence as they last cried, “Mamma,” before taking that last breath?
She was there for the first one.
How many mothers have left their child’s shoes in corners by the door, a letter or photograph near the coffee table, sometimes wear the coat that was left on the peg, or messages on the phone to not disturb the essence or energy– and to hold to something left behind of that piece of their heart?
How many mothers sat on the rocking chair, the porch swing, the park bench, the pew in silence and simply sat for hours trying to make sense of things? How many tears?
Freedom isn’t free.
How many mothers fought in the wars for freedom, but not with guns?
How many mothers died on the day their child did?