My beautiful blessed girl.
Your pain is my pain.
You will never know how much,
I love and adore you,
Until you have a daughter of your own.
I so long to sweep you up in my arms.
Like on the morning of the day we were pulled apart.
When we were the best of friends.
And you used to run up the driveway to greet me.
That last night at home together,
When we watched “Mamma Mia”,
As I tucked you in bed, I said:
“Do you have ANY doubt at all that I love you?”
You shook your head fiercely.
We were so happy to see each other again.
But the next day I lost you.
And, more tragically, you lost me.
And you lost me, and lost me, and lost me, over, and over, and over…
Until you stopped trusting that I would be there,
When you needed me.
On your ninth birthday,
I decorated my house for a party of three.
You were so happy!
You ran and wrapped your arms around me.
And the day you sent me that simple text,
Saying “I miss you”.
These are the things I remember,
When I am alone.
They bring me no joy,
Because so much time has been lost,
And so much pain and suffering for us both.
You are my GIRL.
I always wanted my own GIRL.
I was going to be such a good Mum.
I was a good Mum.
Until I wasn’t.
My mother left me.
And I left you.
The agony of that parallel is indescribable.
My heart has been broken,
In more ways than one.
And yours has been too.
By your own Mum.
I firmly believe,
That the rest of your life,
Should be a breeze.
It hurts me so much,
To know it won’t be.
We have all felt the ache of a broken heart, Pearl.
And the fear to trust again.
It is such a cliche to say:
“Time heals all wounds.”
But, everyone will tell you,
It is true.
In the meantime,
If you want to cry on my shoulder,
Instead of in your bed,
On your own,
Clutching the plush frog,
That he gave you,
You need only ask.
Back to Poetry Galley
Mad in America hosts blogs by a diverse group of writers. These posts are designed to serve as a public forum for a discussion—broadly speaking—of psychiatry and its treatments. The opinions expressed are the writers’ own.
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