Twisting the Knife

 

Having spent too many consecutive days

swatting at mosquitoes,  

Honors’ Night for our daughter drove the knife home.

It pierced my left kidney and,
spurred on by a series of life milestones,

a slow hemorrhage began. 

A second Honors’ ceremony,

proudly applauding our son’s accomplishments.

(he is becoming a man without you here)

The Spring Musical,

as I sat in amazement

watching a 13 year-old entertainer

take the stage by storm.

(in continuing to live, he shows more courage than he knows)

Milestones,

each a twist of the knife

embedded in my belly.

During our daughter’s graduation,

I sat alone, an empty seat beside me,

the result of traffic and poorly planned logistics.

“This is as it should be”, I thought.

An empty seat for our daughter’s other mother.

You were there; I felt you.

(you should be here, damn it)

It was comforting

and yet the knife twisted a bit more. 

I keep my poker face on,

smile through the anemia setting in and

bite the inside of my cheek

to keep from crying.

Sometimes though, I can’t bite hard enough

and the tears fall.

I am lousy at poker, really. 

The milestones aren’t over.

There is so much more to come.

Scout's 18^th birthday.

(i remember her first and how you smiled and

allowed me to overkill, making it an event way beyond her years)

My 50^th.

(I already miss your teasing in spite of the mere 7 months difference in our ages as you did for my 40^th)

The end of another school year.

The beginning of another…

(i can hardly think of that now)

 In August, I will take our daughter to college,

so far away.

Too far and yet this is where her heart leads her,

so mine will follow

(as I know yours would have too)

moving heaven and earth to make it possible.

I will support her from afar,

sending and receiving care packages
and limitless texts,

missing her warm cheek late at night

when I forget and wander into her room to tuck her in.

(you would understand this, I know)

The knife will twist again and still

I will keep my poker face on

until the day is done.

My gut twisting in agony,

my belly will fill with blood

in the dark of night. 

There will be other milestones.

A lifetime of them, in fact.

(why aren’t you here to commemorate them too?)

I really can’t think beyond August, though.
I can barely think that far ahead. 

Maybe I’ll just think about it all tomorrow.

(i miss you.)

 

` Mk Michaels, 2014