A Broken Heart and Mourning in Black

I don't exactly know why I am posting this. Maybe I need to put my feelings into words, to let some of the pain out, to sob uncontrollably. My Mom, best friend, fellow thrift store hunter, antique-r, crafting partner in crime, beloved mother died unexpectedly due to cancer complications. I want to scream, and throw things, stomp my feet, shout. ANYTHING to ease the incredible, all encompassing, overwhelming anguish. I think I understand why in Biblical times they sat among ashes and tore their clothes. It gave you something to do when you can't do anything else. When you can barely breathe.

My mom was an incredibly, talented and creative woman, who sang beautifully, loved clothes, and of course shoes. She came alive when gardening. She has turned dirt patches into little Edens. She could make a silk purse out of a sows ear and loved to laugh. She adored her grandchildren, and loved my brother and me. We were not without our squabbles, so senseless now, in hindsight.

No matter HOW old we are, we never outgrow our need for our mom. Even as an adult she has smoothed my hair and soothed my tears, telling me it will be okay. Several times I have gone to call her, and remembered she is no longer there. If your mom is alive call her and tell her how important she is, and that you love her. I was grateful to be there holding her hand, until the end. She was surrounding by children and grandchildren. Heavily medicated, coma-like, I don't think she knew we were there. but I am glad I was.

This Poem has always made me cry, but all the more now.

Backward, turn backward, O Time in your flight,
Make me a child again just for to-night!
Mother, come back from the echoless shore,
Take me again to your heart as of yore;
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep:
Rock me to sleep, Mother-rock me to sleep!

Backward, flow backward, oh, tide of the years!
I am so weary of toil and of tears
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain-
Take them, and give me my childhood again!
I have grown weary of dust and decay-
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away;
Weary of sowing for others to reap;
Rock me to sleep, Mother-rock me to sleep!

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, O Mother, my heart calls for you!
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossomed and faded, our faces between:
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I to-night for your presence again.
Come from the silence so long and so deep:
Rock me to sleep, Mother-rock me to sleep!

Over my heart, in the days that are flown,
No love like mother-love ever has shone;
No other worship abides and endures
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:
None like a mother can charm away pain
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.
Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep;
Rock me to sleep, Mother-rock me to sleep!

Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old;
Let it drop over my forehead to-night,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light;
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;
Rock me to sleep, Mother-rock me to sleep!

Mother, dear Mother, the years have been long
Since I last listened your lullaby song:
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
Womanhood's years have been only a dream.
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
Never hereafter to wake or to weep;
Rock me to sleep, Mother-rock me to sleep!

Elizabeth Akers Allen (1823-1911)