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A Snapshot of Grief in Process
I miss my mom more
than ever could be imagined
before I had the chance.
Gone is gone;
never another word spoken
between us; no more secrets shared.
The finality of it is crushing.
I also have guilt in the in-between.
She suffered with her illness
and because of her illness
more than was right
to ask of anyone.
Yet we demanded.
Her addiction was an escape
from a place without reprieve
and therein is a tragedy
which hurts me to my bones.
Like mother like daughter,
I know her pain.
She is at peace, of this I’m sure;
isn’t suffering anymore, a fact.
Her choices led to leaving
this place and I’ve offered up
my acceptance.
She never did let another soul
tell her what to do,
that’s for damn sure.
I loved that about her
almost most of the time
than ever could be imagined
before I had the chance.
Gone is gone;
never another word spoken
between us; no more secrets shared.
The finality of it is crushing.
I also have guilt in the in-between.
She suffered with her illness
and because of her illness
more than was right
to ask of anyone.
Yet we demanded.
Her addiction was an escape
from a place without reprieve
and therein is a tragedy
which hurts me to my bones.
Like mother like daughter,
I know her pain.
She is at peace, of this I’m sure;
isn’t suffering anymore, a fact.
Her choices led to leaving
this place and I’ve offered up
my acceptance.
She never did let another soul
tell her what to do,
that’s for damn sure.
I loved that about her
almost most of the time
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