I Never Answered


Just maybe

It’s better this way.

She doesn’t have to deal

With not being able to walk

With workers never coming on time

With constant pain and bed sores

With the ever-present oxygen tanks

And with me ignoring her calls.

Like the time she called me

On March 6th...

I never answered.

. . . . . . . .

I had a dream about her last night.

I knew she had died. I was crying loudly.

But, just then, I heard a door open.

I heard the familiar click of her power chair

Moving closer to me.

We didn’t say anything.

I just stood there and hugged her.

It’s almost as if I could actually feel it.

Her warmth

Her thin arms around my stomach

My face in her neck,

Her thick, greying brown hair tickling my cheek.

I gave her as many kisses as I could.

Then, the cruel, evil sound of my alarm went off.

Waking me up from a dream

Of something that’ll never happen again.

That dream was the happiest I remember being since she passed.

. . . . . . . .

March 7th 2016 is a day I’ll never forget.

It was a normal day,

All the way up to second period,

Eastern Civ. with Mr. Stewart.

His phone rang.

My dad and stepmom were here to pick me up.

‘Well, that’s odd. I must of had a doctors appointment today.’

I didn’t.

I went out to the truck.

It’s rusty blue color looked like the sky.

I smiled when I saw dad outside the truck waiting for me.

He, however, was not smiling.

My dad hugged me.

“What’s wrong, dad?”

“Your mother passed away in her sleep last night.”

I knew that he wasn’t lying, but I didn’t want to believe him.

She couldn’t pass so soon, could she?

. . . . . . . .

A few days later was her funeral.

I saw family I haven’t seen in years.

Distant cousins and great aunts

Even one of my mom’s workers was there.

We sang some familiar hymns.

Each note on the page stung me

Like a thousand black wasps.

I asked if later we could listen

To Toby Keith’s “Cryin’ For Me.”

Because she always told me

She wanted that played at her funeral.

I’ll never forget the tears I forced down my throat,

As each strum of the guitar played on.

This poem is about: 
My family


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741