Catherine Cole
September 19, 1981 - March 17th, 2013
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Her mother stays strong,
not because she feels strong,
because she has to.
No one else can do it better,
Or understands her more
Her husband (not her father)
Stays quietly strong, and stands by
Waiting. Watching, doing the small stuff.
It is all he can do, until he needs
to do
Something else
Her father does what he always
does.
Harangues, and scolds and tries to
motivate
Not understanding that this time
That isn’t even close to real
But he doesn’t know what else to do
Her brother wishes he could sell
everything
to be close to her
but he has a life, a daughter of his own,
and really, what could he do
His mother is already doing
everything.
I stand by, and sign for
wheelchairs,
Buy Girl Scout cookies, and jamba juice just in
case,
Once egg salad sandwiches because
she craves one
I walk past strangers crying in the
driveway,
who were not expecting me to need
my car just then,
There is nothing to say, no way to
help
Until the end
When her mother shatters
Into bright glittery shards of grief
And we quietly begin to pick them up.
Only then, will it change,
The Family, never again the same
Her husband, not her father,
Will still be quietly waiting and
watching
And doing what is needed.
On Mother's Day, her best friend will drop off flowers
a dying request, an attempt to comfort
To let her mother know.
It will happen again on her birthday
Year after year, until she falls.
