A Poem for Grieving Parents: After the Ink Fades

Parents,
like me, know all about 
learning opportunities.  
We experience them each second, 
minute, hour, day, night, month
and year. Oh, my dear, we know
the lessons well. We never ask
for them. We never request to
join a school of thought, nor wish
this club’s type  of exclusivity on 
any other. We experience our 
lessons in nature when the
birds chirp, yet hear no
shriek of excitement, or “Mom,
how you doing?”  We have 
learning opportunities we
never sought, and knowledge we
never wished to gain.

We experience our learning opportunities
each day since we last saw our child run
through the door and forget to shut it
behind them.  What’d we'd give to tell them
to shut the door once more, and you realize
it wasn’t a big deal for her little boots to 
track in some mud.  We know the count
of months since their dirty clothes 
went into the laundry. What’d I give to
see leggings torn at the knees again from
her climbing, balancing and jumping. 
we know the count number of years 
since we last heard their voice.

We know all about the learning opportunities
after the casseroles are gone, and the 
ink on the sympathy cards fades. In the world
we know, an Amazon delivery 
countdown begins for acceptable 
mourning mistaken as grief.  We learn
who acts like a sometimes friend 
holding your hand, as they try to 
pull away and disappear. They become
Merlin when the world goes dark, 
and our loss isn’t just one. We 
discover new ideas we never 
knew before, such as how quickly 
people fade in their discomforted will.

A stranger you used to know might’ve been
one of the six who carries  the weight of 
your daughter’s coffin out of trust and request, 
only it’s on borrowed time, and soon rumors
swell because you’re not healing well.

But parents, like me, also find friends we 
never expected to find after the world 
grows dark, and not even moonlight 
seems to reflect in the lake. Swans appear
at unusual times, such as when the moon
decides to appear in its full complexion of
golden white. When parents, like me,
try to tuck our darkest reality into bed 
and leave our nightmares unexposed; 
discover someone like you–honest,
raw, and real–it’s natural to wonder 
if this friendship is five stars on Amazon?

If the lessons I’d  learned early are true, 
in order to survive in a public space, 
I must be weary of to whom I speak 
of my little girl, who is one-half
of my life. If the learning opportunities 
I’ve gained in almost four years since
my little girl went away are true, then 
I should be careful of who approaches,
what they say, for what purpose, and why.
But, I’m grateful for the night when 
the swans come  in off the lake, and reveal 
someone is here to actually stay. Because,
my dear, the learning opportunities 
parents, like me, share is imprinted on
our hearts, written in our minds, and
guarded in our souls; not in the rumor
filled halls of he said, she said, they 
said social media comment gallery. 
A circus tent courtroom where clowns
smile with blood on their teeth, and 
People say, “She fell off the tightrope. 
She was never properly trained.” 

Perhaps some believe parents like me will
play a card where they say, “She claims she
falls off the tightrope everytime. Watch her.
She’ll use it for life.” But parents like me 
experience learning opportunities that
you, dear, never see. Grief, not mourning, 
doesn’t go away like a three day stomach
bug. It breaks your physical health if 
we fail find what helps us survive, and 
it changes the colors of parents’ minds 
when doctors do the X-rays to show
how we’ve changed. We all try to 
survive in a world without our boys
and girls, and still suffer judgment
from those who feel they’ve taken 
bigger and wider steps in life.  Maybe,
just maybe this is a learning opportunity.