November 30, 2006
My Mother Died.
I was changing planes, and she died. I didn’t make it. She Died.
My Mother Died. I tried to get there on time. I changed my flight. I was told there was time.
I tried. She Died.
My Mother Died, I was not there. I was not there to say good bye. I was not there to tell her, to tell her, all that there was to say.
My Mother Died. I was not there to tell her, that she was a good mother. I’m not sure I really feel that, but I’m sure I should have told her that, and I didn’t.
My mother died. I loved my mother. Did she know?
My Mother Died. I should have been there. Why didn’t she wait for me? She knew I was coming. She didn’t wait! I tried.
My Mother Died. In Cape Cod. Without me. She always said the sun went “Bloop” as it slipped down from the horizon. She loved the bloop. She didn’t wait for me. She left me.
My mother died and my husband’s in London, not answering his damned phone. I begged him not to go. He left anyway.
She didn’t wait, she didn’t wait for me, she left me.
I called my mother. “Hi Mommy”
“Hello sweet girl, where are you?”
“I’m in Atlanta, changing planes.” I cried. “I didn’t make it. Mom died.”