A Blessing for Good-Bye
I don’t know how to die with you.
There are so many ways we have
not yet begun. Thrown together
as mother and son. Never my intent
to have my uniqueness become
something so frightening for you to know.
In the beginning, I decided that your
fear meant there was something wrong
with me. That gradually shifted to there
must be something wrong with you.
Over time I made peace with the stranger
you called son.
What matters now, is the sorrow of a
relationship unlived. I see now how
I held a dream of walking more closely
with you. A walk of welcome and invitation,
of genuineness and compassion, play,
joy and forgiveness.
I see now how I’m being asked to
be the son who lived that dream,
not in resentment or regret, but
rather in acceptance and courage.
Holding the vision that there is more
than one way to be a woman’s son.
In finding some narrative about sons
and mothers, not burdened by contempt,
I can see you. You did not simply undersize
your world. You took great pride in accomplishing
simple tasks and you played games as if games
were ordained by God for your pleasure.
I am willing to learn how to die with you.
Our estrangement peals away in the face
of our common humanity, our mortality.
I find my own death and dying in your last
days. Stranger no more, I die as your son,
and find a place for our joining.