Im not sure why Im posting this. I guess because I want any potential or current drug users to know its not a victimless habit. It changes every member of the family, especially the parents. It also adds burden to the lives of the siblings. This is a poem I found this morning in a poetry book my globetrotting Mary Kate wrote. It brought me to tears. Its true. The addiction of my oldest daughter was a nightmare that Im still trying to heal from. I never realized that my other kids saw how it affected me. On a positive note, my beautiful Erin is now enrolled in college to be a drug counselor and is one year drug free. Im proud of her. And to my beautiful Mary Kate, I promise to be the vibrant mom I once was, so you may continue wandering the earth worry free. Here is what she wrote: AT THE AIRPORT, by Mary Kate You didnt cry when I left and I often wondered why; If there was a part of you that was glad to be rid of me, Almost relieved by the freedom granted by an absent child. I sobbed, clinging to you like the baby that I am, The baby that I was, curled inside of your womb, A parasite sucking out your beautiful vivacity. I remember thinking aboard the plane that I wish you had cried, Had made some embarrassing scene amongst the crowd, Had somehow transmitted our love into a public spectacle that would make it more intense, A theater of our very own. And yet I understood that you were never one to cry, That you hold your heavy heart with silence and a bowed head, Praying to some God, somewhere to take away the emptiness inside. And I knew that you would miss me, and I also knew that physical distance was just a symbol for how far away you feel sometimes. When I leave I always know that Ill come back home. With you it is always a mystery, The ever greedy miser of time stealing you away until sometimes I cannot recognize the empty shell of a person standing before me, Wondering where inside is the vibrant woman who raised me, but I suppose she was washed away with the tempest you had to withstand in order to survive. And yet while you were drowning you held the rest of us up, pushing our heads above the water to breathe in life while your lungs only filled with salt and broken dreams. I so wish that I could fix you, That somehow I can paint over the graffiti of the past into a mural composed of the beautiful colors of your soul. Yet I know it is a futile attempt, so I pray to the same God you damn, fervently hoping that he is one to enjoy a good chase and will someday prove you wrong.
Posted on: Sun, 16 Nov 2014 19:21:40 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015