A Mother's Day Story

 Press play before ready.

Salute.

(A lone voice whispers)

I can still glimpse all of you. 

As my soul, so cleverly hidden from mortal sight.  

  

Emerges unconsciously, whenever it feels the need to invariably weep.  

 

Your delicate engaging smile, I can still so clearly see.  

  

And I can faintly hear your precious voice, sometimes in the stillness. 

Above the noise. 

Everywhere I go.  

 

It's an unusual entity.

That thing of all things called Memories.

To me. 

It's like a strange ethereal bridge. 

Ever-present in The Great In-Between. 

  

Standing just between you and me.

My dearly departed beloved mother.  

  

I always crave to cross that bridge of mine every night, whenever I sleep.  

  

To meet you the one, that I will perpetually treasure.  

  

For it's you. 

I worship and will always choose along with a few others, to always preserve.  

  

My ethereal bridge though once young, is gradually getting old as I age. 

And beginning to disintegrate and quietly fade away.  

  

As my life moves forward and my imminent history.

Writes another story on another page.  

  

Fragments of you slowly appear to disappear from my perception.

Within every passing dying day, and even more depressing seconds.  

  

But occasionally, with momentous recollections. 

Restlessly flourishing profoundly inside.  

 

Crashing in unison like multi-colored waves, upon my mind's yellow sandy beaches.  

  

You still live on dearest mother, today, especially on Mother's Day.

Beyond the clutches of the grave.  

  

I sometimes stand alone in the middle of that ethereal bridge.

Connecting me to my old memories.  

As it stands deserted between now and midnight. 

And start whispering to unknown others.  

  

Watching but choosing to stay hidden in the many deep folds of my recollections.

Safe on the other side.  

  

Now and again.

They arrive as swirling grey shadows and murmur.  

Quietly whispering back.  

  

Some nights, I walk hastily towards them when imbued with cascades of irreplaceable energy.  

  

Some nights, if I'm lucky and God allows it, you appear.

My own beloved mother.  

 

One of life's loves, I still treasure like no other.

My Annie.

The generational spark of my own inner resilience and power.  

A beautiful woman I'll always love from birth until I too am destined to leave this earth.  

  

Those miraculous otherworldly junctures, when they unexpectedly develop.  

Always makes me involuntarily shiver. 

And when I arise, invoked by the early morning lights. 

I always know when you've been.  

  

For I miraculously just find one of your souvenirs.  

  

A beautiful small white feather, and within that captivating moment. 

I always see us.  

  

Standing close together at midnight, on that deteriorating bridge.

Gently holding hands forever. 

Whatever our plights, even though so long ago. 

You were consecrated to turn quietly to dust.  

One night.

And in that sweet moment of self-revelation.

As we stand like mother and son.

So close together.  

  I then always know what I sometimes forget but always remember.

The justifications why my soul invariably, unconsciously appears to cry.  

  

For deep down inside, I know. 

Those we love never really die.  

  

 (C)  

Copyright John Duffy

Image shared from Pinterest under fair usage policy.