sometimes I feel like I’m wrapped tight in thin paper
and if I breathe too hard it will tear
I crawl in bed, at times
when I know I’m not supposed to be there
at first it came and went
and now it seems to stay
a sadness that won’t shake
an anger rubbed in like cement
12 years is too much
but some deal for 24
and I can’t wrap my mind around it,
that she will suffer more
this life has no promise of ease
no guarantee only the old will get sick
but knowing and seeing my mama,
I wasn’t ready for yet
some days are so good
her smile is still the same
some days are tears
that need no explanation
you may think she’s tired
she might be
but she’s also losing the ability to keep her eyes open
you may think she’s drooling from her medicine
she might be
but she’s also losing the ability to swallow
you may think she’s noticing something in the distance
she might be
but she’s also hallucinating what’s not there
you may think whatever you want of me,
listen to whatever you’d like
but pass no judgment unless you’ve slowly lost a mother
whose smile was your light in the dark
My mom was diagnosed with Parkinson’s at age 55. She has now been living with this incurable disease for over 13 years. For more information on Parkinson’s Disease and how you can be a part of working toward a cure, visit the Michael J Fox Foundation.
