A Son's Lament

When I found you in bed, you had just died. I wept; my grieving went mostly unsaid; you clearly were gone—I was horrified! As you lay still in bed, utterly dead, the huge shock I felt could not be denied, as tears gave way to muffled sobs and dread. Mother, I always had longed for your love: though you loved them, for you they never wept. When your tired spirit had risen above, I knew, my copious tears were inept; meanwhile, we all assembled to remove your slumbering corpse as it quietly slept. Hours passed when we all gathered for your wake, a stressful event that was neither good nor sane as we all tried (for pity's sake!) to offer our condolences if we could. As you laid there like stone—no more awake— I felt all alone through fate's victimhood. The day was upon us: the ceremony was on Sunday, which was dark and sunless; dream-like and weird and strange, it was eerie; distraught, overwhelmed, insane--I grew bloodless! As they gave your last rite and obsequy, I, too, died more than words could ever express.