all that remains of you rests in a green cardboard box:
6″ x 9″ x 6″.
your name, printed on a generic white sticker,
with a number and a date:
the date we set you free
by fire –
and all that remains of you now rests, with me, in a box by my bed.
a green cardboard box.
you weigh less now, but you are, surprisingly, heavier
than i anticipated.
i didn’t know what to expect, to be honest, when i got the call
to come and collect you.
but you were given to me, gift-wrapped, like a present.
gift-wrapped in a silver bag, with silver rope handles:
like a belated birthday gift.
having you, for my mother, truly was a gift.
with my brothers, i will scatter
what’s left upon the graves of those you lost long ago:
your lover and your son,
just like you wanted, Mum.
but, truth is, i am finding it hard to part with you.
so long as i have you, in this little green box,
you remain a part of me.
but, part we must.
i cannot hold onto these fragments
of bone and cinder
– that were once strong arms that held me
– that was once a beating heart that loved, unconditionally.
i must let you be
and scatter you to the breeze
and set you free.
i must learn to breathe for myself.
some days, i feel like i am drowning,
suffocating,
in my own loss and self-pity.
Sundays are the hardest days to bear
because i was there that Sunday,
when you gave your last breath back up to the sky
– do you remember?
i saw the light in your eye
turn off, like a light,
leaving my world a whole lot darker,
despite the sunlight.
i was there, with you, with my hand on your heart.
i felt it stop.
part of me died with you.
oh the pain of physical severance.
our umbilical cord, cut.
finally.
i know Death is not the end.
i know you walk with me.
i know you have stopped by… i know.
i could smell your perfume.
and i heard you, rattle my cup!
but i cannot keep you here, comforting as it is, having you close.
i must set you free.
i must let you be: be with Dad and William.
it’s the one last thing i promised you and
it is time.
time. we always think we have time.
truth is, there is never enough time.
time. my past, my present and my future:
all in one little green box.
time. it is all we had.
they say, in time, it becomes easier…
… this… breathing for myself.
i hope so
because sometimes i feel
like i am weighed down at the bottom of the ocean.
(c) Kat McDonald – September 2017
Rest in peace, Mum.
My late mother – on her 91st Birthday! 7th June 2017… she passed on 16th July 2017.
Arbroath soon, my love, soon xxx
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yes my love. xxx. that is a must!! xx
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So heartbreaking, and yet also heartwarming, Kat x ❤
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thank you x
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It breaks me heart. 😦 My condolences to you and your family.
Kat, I’m here for you if you need a friend to talk to. I too, have lost my mother in law and my grandpa this year on April.
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aw… much love & light to you too
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Hugs from me to you.
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thank you x
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A very sad but excellent tribute to someone you loved very much. I’m so sorry for your loss, and I know they made your life so much better for just being there.
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yeah. thank you. losing my mum was a hard and painful loss. but i take comfort knowing she is no longer struggling and suffering xx
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I lost my mother 39 years ago. She was only 54. She never met my husband, my kids, my grandkids. She and my dad still dance in my dreams, so there’s comfort in that.
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aw xxx. much love to you xx ❤️
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