___________________________________
The Kiss

Electricity flowing between two pairs of
slightly parted lips,
inches from each other.
Breathing into each other's mouths with
light, measured breaths.
Eyes flitting anxiously
over each other's faces.
One tentative nudge, a fleeting brush of moist
lips breaks open the floodgates of permission.

Separation: We look at each other, drawing it out as
long as we can.
The anticipation dances on my skin, between my legs,
in my fingertips.
It is a magnetic charge that can not
be resisted and is slowly pulling me forward.
My hands snake around the back of your neck,
pulling you in.
Our lips join with a brief swirl of the tongue.

Separation: Last chance to turn back.
Suddenly, one hand grabs my waist, the other behind my head.

And.
We.
Dive.

It's been a good while since I posted anything deeper than three lines of my own. I have been so, so riding the coaster of peaks and valleys lately.

So, you'll forgive the randomness of the following. I'm grieving...

Two years ago last week, on my birthday, I received the call to come to Las Vegas to be with my mom... she'd slipped into a coma. Her body was failing. I got on a plane on my birthday and braced myself for what was to come.

That day, I had only been home two weeks from being with her for a month, as she had been released from the hospital to die. As hard as it was to be with her for that time, I'm so glad I had the time with her. We used it wisely. I asked her the questions I needed the answers to (family history stories, jokes she loved, and how to make the stuffing for the turkey, among many others). I got to serve her. I bathed her. I loved her in a way that only a daughter can. I smoothed hair back from her brow. I made her the foods she loved (even if her appetite was gone, and the smell was her only consolation). I sat with her as she went through her jewelery and told me the stories of the many gifts and awards she'd earned. She slipped my grandmother's wedding ring onto my hand, noticing that my own ring was missing a stone. We cried together, and laughed plenty. We said goodbye.

My mom died two years ago, tonight. I held her as she drew her last breath. I soothed her and told her to go to God... that it was OK to go, the we would all be OK, and would see her again someday.

I was like this immutable rock in the strength and horror of that moment. I was stoic. I felt like I had to be for the others she left behind. I felt that I had to continue to be the caretaker (as i had for so long in her illness). I had to make the arrangements, pay for it all, and get her and the others across the country to Ohio for her burial.

I could barely cry. I knew if I did I might never stop, so I thought it best not to. I was fairly alone through this. I had a few friends helping to orchestrate things on the other end... but no one held me. No one rocked me... and no one was there to wipe away tears, if they'd come.

Now, I just had a major birthday, and here I am again... in grief over losing my mom. it's a lot to suffer all at once (again).

My mom was my best palliegirl. She was such an amazing person. A real whip! She was a million dollar girl in a man's profession... and she left it all behind to follow her passion -- nursing. She graduated from Nursing School at age 52, and no one cheered more loudly then me. I kept her graduation pin.

She used to remind me of Mae West...

She'd say things like:

I may have taught you all you know... but not all *I* know.

or...

after I once told her how proud of her I was... she replied, "and that's the thing I do SECOND best! (with a priceless smirk)"

She was the embodiment of sass. She was also very loving and strong... would (ya know)... tell it like it was. She'd be a great one to tell ya you had lipstick on yer teeth, or TP on your shoe.

My mom was the first divorced person we knew (1974). She raised us as best she could... with a dad who meant well, but wasn't a grand provider. I never really understood her sacrifice until I was grown and supported her in her illness. I guess that's the way it goes. As kids, we are self-centered and encouraged (sometimes) to be blind to the ills of the world. I could also chalk it up to the martyrdom of motherhood that my mom lived in... she wanted better for us then she had.

Thinking back on this, I think my mom knew that in her challenge to provide for us, it made me (the only girl and the youngest) have to give away some of my own innocence in childhood. I had become mini-mom in our home and I so wanted to ease her burden (of working three jobs, early on), that I pushed to have the home clean and the dinners made... and I know now that my mom saw my heart. She saw what was happening and wasn't able to change it... so we all just accepted the roles and how they impacted us.

My mom was smart enough to get us all into therapy early in the process -- to help us "transition". Since then, I have always sought wise counsel when I felt fragile. I thank my mom for fostering that freedom in me.

She wanted emotional security and financial comfort for us. Though she struggled to provide this for herself, she was able to encourage me in my own quest for this. I'm glad she lived to see me graduate with honors, and have my own business... to see me married, and own a home. I do so grieve for the many things she will not share with me, though.

I miss hearing her call to "bahaha" on the phone when the Buckeyes make a touchdown.
I miss being able to ask her if it was two cups or one, when I make peach cobbler.
I miss the way she laughed -- full tilt boogie! When she cried at the same time, it was priceless.
She had amazing green eyes.
I miss her as the last link to my father who died 21 years ago.

I'm feeling pretty alone still, in all of this. When I type this, I am reaffirmed at the core of my need to be little. I can plainly see why I need this part of me to be recognized. I knew that she saw glimpses of my littleness in my need for her approval, and of my unrelenting love for her in the end... and I knew that she understood all of my teenage backlash toward her, for which I spent the final 20 years of her life apologizing. She forgave me before it even began.

My mom was a wonder. She was a star. She beat the world at its own game... for a time. Then, it beat her back. I's like to say my mom went gracefully... but in fact, she didn't. She hung in there. Fought to the bitter end.

"Bitter end" sounds so cliche... unless you saw the way it went. I think I was as bitter in her ending as she was. I wanted God to make it painless. Take her quickly. Bring the peace. Twenty minutes prior to her passing...

I was in the hospital chapel arguing with God. I said, "God! It's me. Remember me?" The words on the wall of the chapel... Your word SAID:

The Lord is my shepherd,
I shall not want;
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters;

I can let her GO, GOD! Will you just please come for her? Give her peace from the struggle to live. STILL WATERS, GOD? Anyone? SOMEONE!!!

He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
for His name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil;
for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

But, I wasn't comforted. I was fucking pissed off. Where was HE, THEN!? She was drowning in her own lungs... and where was HE?! (I can let her go). Where was HER comfort? (I can let her go). Did she not fear? She was struggling for the relief of cardiac arrest. Where were the Nurses? (I WANT TO let her GO).

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life;
and I shall dwell in the house of the
Lord forever.

And she did go. I left the chapel and turned the corner, the five doors from her room... and I went to her bedside, and she seized. and I held her and cooed to her, and soothed her

and
I
let
her
(helped her)
go.

I remember now, it's "in God's time," not mine.

I suppose my own healing will be the same. I'll keep doing my part. My middle name is Faith... so 'spect God will do His part.

In the mean time, little me will search. I'll try to do well for myself, and give what I feel I can + some more. Someone will see me out here, and notice me, and take me to love right up close...

the
way
I
need
to
be
loved

Won't they?

are you seeing into me?

thru me?

or what, here?

You coil me in pleasure and want. It feels so unfair that you understand and even may want to give me what I want in this world... and are not in a position to give it. Understand that I don't hold any anger about it... just an incredulous gaze at the universe for it's position right now.