Sunday, June 12, 2005
When I Closed the Door
Sorry for the strange poetry. I just thought that since today is a "missing my kids" day, it would be a healthy thing to "get it out". I went through my written journals today, and found entries from other "bad" days realizing that it IS getting better. I will never get over not being with my kids completely, but at least the pain is easing a little. Anyhow, sorry for the melancholia...
When I Closed the Door
(11-21-04)
I said I would not miss the snow or driving the pass.
I wouldn't miss the "smallness" of the town
Or the "largeness" of the mountain.
I also said I wouldn't cry
Over leaving yardwork and snow-shoveling.
Silently, within myself, when dealing with miserable people,
I said, "I'm not going to miss you, you can count on that."
I told myself that I wouldn't miss the naughtiness of my kids,
Or the unfinished desk, or the broken chair or the ancient food-processor...
And then I closed the door and left.
If only I could take it back.
Had I but known how much I would need the snow
Or want to drive;
How "large" the town seems in comparison with others I've seen;
How "small" the mountains are next to the desert;
How much I would cry just to feel the grass under my knees or hold a snow-shovel;
How much I would learn about miserable people,
And about how miserable I am;
How incomparably empty and lonely I would feel without my children's spirits;
How I would live with a houseful of broken furniture
And an absence of appliances,
I would have kept a more reverent silence
Before I closed the door.
When I Closed the Door
(11-21-04)
I said I would not miss the snow or driving the pass.
I wouldn't miss the "smallness" of the town
Or the "largeness" of the mountain.
I also said I wouldn't cry
Over leaving yardwork and snow-shoveling.
Silently, within myself, when dealing with miserable people,
I said, "I'm not going to miss you, you can count on that."
I told myself that I wouldn't miss the naughtiness of my kids,
Or the unfinished desk, or the broken chair or the ancient food-processor...
And then I closed the door and left.
If only I could take it back.
Had I but known how much I would need the snow
Or want to drive;
How "large" the town seems in comparison with others I've seen;
How "small" the mountains are next to the desert;
How much I would cry just to feel the grass under my knees or hold a snow-shovel;
How much I would learn about miserable people,
And about how miserable I am;
How incomparably empty and lonely I would feel without my children's spirits;
How I would live with a houseful of broken furniture
And an absence of appliances,
I would have kept a more reverent silence
Before I closed the door.
