I left Mother twice.
First, I left her cloistered womb. I didn’t want to go, but it was my birthday; and she insisted. I never would have left if she hadn’t pushed me out the door. It ended in tears for both of us.
Mother took me to a house with empty spaces. We lived alone and together. One by one the years came, filling all the rooms, crowding me until I had to leave. I opened the door by myself and left without a tear.
I kissed Mother once, the day she left her house. She locked the door and left without her gloves, though her hands were cold. I cried that day; she didn’t say a word.
I wore Mother’s gloves to fill the empty spaces. They helped me face the cold, and finally grasp what she did.
I missed Mother the day I lost her glove on my way home. The right one disappeared; I only have the left.
I missed Mother more that day than all the days before.
year-struck 
Oh, you give me chills. Such sorrow. Blessings on you today.
Thank you. I hope you had a good Mother’s Day.
Dear fellow orphan….
I’m glad there are people like you who understand.
sometimes, in the anguish of separation… one has to push away… or the other has to kick. It’s a very thin line that’s torn between us… and a lot remains of mother in the child that has broken loose. I love your poetry.
Thanks, Shimonz. Sometimes we have to leave or push someone away. It is a thin line.
Beautifully said.
Thanks, Elyse.
Mother’s day is a tough one for me. You started me with tears. But, when my kids asked why I wasn’t answering the phone today, I was better able to explain.
I’m sorry you started with tears. I hope it got better and you have a good Mother’s Day.
This is so, so amazing and touching. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Thank you for reading, Francesca.
Beautiful.
Thanks, Kate. I hope you had a good Mother’s Day.
I had a great day but I’m not a real mother — cats and stepchildren you marry into when they are in their 30s really don’t count. I did get a gift though.
To be able to say so much, with so few words, is a rare gift.
Thanks, Scott.
Only a “G” was lost the L-O-V-E remained and will forever.
How sweet. Thank you.
Exquisite. Simply exquisite.
Thank you, Courtenay.
This is poetry.
Thank you, Myra.
😦 This is so touching. Thanks for sharing it.
Thank you for reading.
I miss my mom everyday. She knew where she was going, and she was in a hurry to get there…
Natalie,
I hope your Mother’s destination was a good fit for her. Sometimes this world is a hair shirt worn over tar and feathers. So painful for some, even if we can’t see what’s causing it.
Perhaps where she is now, she can keep a loving eye on what you are up to, and occasionally drop a hint on a good or bad direction, if you are able to hear her.
I’m right here, but mine don’t want to listen, though I’ve already traveled many of the paths they are going down, and might be able to save them some heavy back-tracking.
I like your image of the hair shirt. I think for some people, life is that way.
About your children not listening: I was like that; I had to find out the hard way. At some point though, I did start listening. Your children are blessed to have someone who is willing to let them make those mistakes and still loves them.
I understand, Natalie. We get plenty of practice losing people in life, but it never gets easier.
Very sad and moving. I agree with Scott who left an earlier comment it is a gift to be able to paint such vivid pictures with a minimum of words.
Thanks so much for your kind words.
I can’t say anything, except …
*deep sigh*
how can something so beautiful hurt so much?
(and yet I can’t stop reading it, over and over again)
I don’t know how you manage to go there, but when you do, you’re all in.
utterly and completely. beautifully. generously sharing what you’ve learned. you peel back all the layers and let us bear witness, and even then, you dig even deeper and ask us to keep our eyes open, and see. you make me stronger than I am. thank you.
Your comments always add so much, NT99. I’m so happy that you liked this.