I have no memory of you, only the recollections of others.
Your life to me is like a dream.
A vast reverie of sound and color intertwined.
The days and years you lived,
Now only a fragment of my imagination.
Some things I know are true.
The endless tales of your triumphant motherhood,
The fact that you ten children live on.
All indications that you were once here,
Spinning a vast web, which only you could untangle.
Sometimes it’s as if,
No one understands you,
No one knows you.
You live in a house of glass, trapped by your own emotions and thoughts.
Even the slightest breath or faintest whisper brought the house shattering down upon you.
Your eyes saw the suffering of your family as you faded from their grasp.
Your heart sank as you heard sniffles and soft sobs coming from every direction of the room.
Your weak body lay there doing its best to console.
The salty taste of tears filled your mouth as you kissed your children goodbye for the last time.
And then you were gone.
Yet still present.
Your memory dangling above the heads of many.
The thought of you coiling around them like a snake.
Squeezing the last ounce of life from their pale facets.
And still they lived.
They had to go on.
You would have wanted them to.
You were loved.
You are loved.