He’s currently mad at me for squeezing that gunk down his spine to keep him flea & tick free.
It’s been 16 long and theiving months of it all; and now that it’s over and my mama has passed away, it feels like a dream: halfway surreal and traumatic, and halfway a street that’s enveloped by fog too thick to navigate.
All I can say is that it’s over.
..and the torment is wrapped up. My mama has lost the fight.
My fingertips are pins and needles,
That tuck the hospital corners of your world,
and smooth the blankets of your mind,
It’s chaos, come to adjust the pillows ’round your heart,
Anxiety, come to massage your broken hands,
See my sparkling, salt encrusted crown of worry,
Ever thickening with hardness,
Never weakening with softness,
My fingertips are ten tiny doorways,
That seek you out, thus desperately
It’s a welcome party sporting shotguns,
It’s death, come to holler in the deafened ears,
Life, come to go away again,
See my hate-infused senses trying so hard to love,
Ever faltering with drunkenness,
Ever drinking in this emptiness.
hard as Hell,
likened to both,
by the notions,
by the actions,
what I am,
just a woman,
out of the race,
came in last place;
I am done:
out they come,
such burden as me.
My mom seemed a little “off” on Thanksgiving…maybe a little more tired than most other times I’d seen her recently. She’d been doing the withdrawal thing for some time leading up to that night…resigning herself to the death that has been chasing her since this time last year. Her spark had been low and she didn’t eat much on Turkey Day. That was the last time I saw my mom.
She must’ve had the stroke sometime after we all left her for the night…
Now, she just lays in her bed at the hospital, no signs of life besides her breathing. She sometimes responds to a question or comment, but mostly, she just lies there starring at a spot on the ceiling.
She has a low-grade fever every night, further damaging what brain cells that have managed to spare themselves from destruction throughout everything. The doctors say that the stroke was caused by her brain mets (her most recent PET scan showed several very small tumors in the frontal lobe above her eyes); they say that is the root cause of the lasting delirium and confusion also.
The full sentences that she manages to get out make no sense at all and range from topics like horse racing to stigmata (not a single topic being anything familiar or realistic). Sometime during the first week of this hospitalization, she blurted out pretty loudly and clearly
“I don’t wanna be part of this two-bit town!”
She also has a recurring theme of horses and sweeping out the garbage into a trash bag or sometimes into a pile, depending on who she is talking to. My Grandma Joey is “visiting her” regularly, despite the fact that my Grandma has been dead for almost 6 years now. My great grandma T left the reservation to come lay hands on my mom (an ominous act if ever there was one), but my mother didn’t recognize her and became agitated and uncomfortable with the presence of my Uncle Horse.
This goes on since the morning after Turkey Day…no change for better or worse although I can read between the lines that this is likely the wrap up for the bitter end of my mom’s fight with Cancer.
Scratch every single thing
That ever held meaning
Swipe away the empty words
All Ive said and all Ive heard
Make it rain with truthfulness
Wash the stain of uselessness
I dont need the toxic lies
The well concealed goodbyes
Its all a joke told cruelly
Behind the trusting back of me
Just go on and get in line
And take your place in kind
Youre all the sorry same
Point fingers and place blame
In the face of reality
Incapable of solidity
Its like a giant oozing wound
Stitches opened far too soon
Im alone in the responsibility
Of letting mutants close to me
Days and nights between
The lies fed forcefully
I vomit each and every breath
Until nothingness is all thats left
Go live your life.
"For your born writer, nothing is so healing as the realization that he has come upon the right word.” —Catherine Drinker Bowen
Welcome. I am Lawrence Rodriguez. Here is a collection of my writing, some of which, I hope, will be included in a future book.
There is a storm coming, are you ready?
The ongoing saga of Delila Black trying to get to Nashville.
ATTENTION TO ADD / ADHD
I'm the last words of a slain poet
Even if it takes me not nine but nine hundred lives -Susan ashwoth
A PLACE FOR PROFESSIONAL & PASSIONATE POETS
An occasional blog
It's just G.
don't make people feel bad about something they genuinely love
Real life training scenarios for beginner & expert survivalist preppers. Reviews on professionally tested survival gear essential for all emergency disasters.
Revealing Covert Abuse!
Writer | Mother | Fighter | Lover
Discovering balance on my plate, my yoga mat, and the classroom
A Journey Out of Domestic Violence
.Welcome to my Metaphors.
Connecting to Friends, Old and New, Through Recipes, Gardens, and Dinner Parties
a poetry collection
Drunk Conversations and My Boring Life
a place to let free all that we are
What goes down must come up
"For Grace can still be found within the gale; with Fear and Reverence raise your ragged sail."
A Groovy Historical World
🎭दो चेहरें हैं,दो लहज़े हैं मेरे...और हर सवाल के दो जवाब "एक मैं जो लिखती हूँ दूजा तुम जो जानते हो"!! 👑Queen Of My Own Thought❣ #MyBlogMyFeeling
Making the world a richer place, one story at a time
I want to be rich. Rich in love, rich in health, rich in laughter, rich in adventure and rich in knowledge. You?
A Personified Narrative : Defying Reality. Sketching Imageries.
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