Hibernation

grieving my mother's death at the end of January 2025

It's been three months.
I want to cry
Scream
But it's locked in,
While I wait, more or less functioning.
I deny, trying to be ok;
I definitely don't want to meltdown while I'm working.
Otherwise, I exist, trying for 'normal',
But normal is gone -
It never was.
Mom had gentleness, humility, modesty,
An art major. She taught me;
I dabble.
Physically, she was petite and slender,
and was cold-natured,
As long as I can remember.
But that last time,
Her figure was cold and inert,
Skin-colored stone.
Sometimes things are counterintuitive, against logic.
Why did I love someone who scolded me,
Who sent me to do my chores,
Homework,
To the bathtub,
To bed?
Because I knew that it formed my days,
Gave me wisdom.
I'll be fifty-six next year;
Fifty-seven the year after that.
She was eighty-five last January;
She'll be eighty-five, now and always.
Someday I'll go on from here.