(Originally Published on April 14, 2013) I yield to the - TopicsExpress

(Originally Published on April 14, 2013) I yield to the heartbreak of my losses and desire a reprieve from the darkness where my heart sits. The blood is still and I wonder if I am alive or in a dream where I awaken in the comfort of my mother’s sweet arms. I see her during the rare moments I find sleep and it breaks me on a nightly basis. In these moments, she is young, before my birthmother was even born. And yet there we are, I am older than her. How does this happen? Am I going insane? Am I ever to sleep again with angels that are comforting? Is there a day where my family isn’t fragmented and driven by the lost? I finally get myself to wake up, I am sweat ladened, and I feel no comfort from the one thing my body craves. I am cursed and blessed in the same breath. But the stench remains soured and I don’t know where to go from there. I tiptoe from room to room, listening to the sounds of healthy slumber that is no longer mine. I pray for this to be their future, though my own mortality tells me this is not possible. I keep this inside for they have watched me grieve, and I don’t wish for them to realize that this is what is in store for them as well. For one day I too will be a memory, as my body rots and turns to dust. They will learn this for themselves, so I will let them be. The summer is around the corner, but I know that as soon as I gain speed with that, as a blanket of good wraps me up, it will again be winter. The cold with more night than day will again prevail. Oh where are the promises of right and a justice that should guide me? How do I show the boys that life is good when in my heart I question that very essence of truth? I wander back to the bed that has gone cold where I lay. I shiver ever so lightly, curling in a ball and hoping the tears that fall don’t awaken the good that is in my life. I sit in the comfort of my mom’s loving arms. She is young, I am aging and more fragile by the day. Oh where is the sleep I desire? Is she like this in heaven? Will my boys do this as well? I sleep in the comfort of my mothers young arms. I sleep in the cold of my reality. I am dying. I am alive. I yearn for her. But I know it is but a dream. The pink sky tells me so.

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