A Loss
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My mother died when I was fifteen months old plus about two weeks more..I was told different things about her death..One person told me that she had been sick and took the wrong medicine, one person told me she committed suicide, and one person told me that she took the wrong medicine because she couldn't read..My adoptive parents never told me what they knew..I tried to get a death certificate once after my adoptive parents were so old that they were in the nursing home and I could not get one.I went on ancestry.com and through them I got the certificate at a high cost monetarily..The reason that I could not get a certificate before was that I did not know her full name...I have had to deal with this at my age now because I did not know for sure before and I felt that I really needed to know..I have worked through it but I still have those feelings of insecurity which comes with the territory of my particular circumstances..
No one speak of her again
Unless in tones hushed, "Later we will talk"
"Shhh! Don't let the child know how her mother died."
She's too young to understand
Is self-destruction inherited?
Does it float around the genes?
Is security destroyed
when one fine day
The lady disappears?
Gone~never caress again
With loving arms wrapped around
her child fifteen-months old.
The plateau has been reached
Opened faced look into the mirror
Her death certificate states
Death by suicide
Ingestion of mercury cyanide
A child now weeps, grieves for the mother
Looks into the mirror and sees
Cotton hair, wrinkles deeply creased
Aware of how life's insecurities dwelt
Buried with the words~ no one speak of her again
Baby cries momma, momma time after time
She does not come
No matter how hungry, tired, cold, wet
On the outside nor how much pain
Cutting deep within until trust, security is destroyed
Inspired by Cyndi MacMillan's contest "Own It"
Written: April 21, 2016
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2016
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