The Soft and The Hard

 I am presently consumed by the needs of my aging Mother.

She is haunted by ghosts in the hallways. Ghosts in the bedroom. Ghosts in the  mirror.

These are not Spirits that come to guide. Offering Presence while standing in witness and lighting the way  to safe passage. Although they are gathered as well by her side, she is sleepwalking past them. Lost in the dream of redemption denied. Feeling unworthy, unsafe, cast aside.

These ghosts are her longings and shadows. Aching for what used to be, never was and forever will not be.

These are regrets and withholding. Unforgiving. Relentless.  And wrapped in the ribbons of…”It’s all my fault. I did it all wrong. I wasn’t enough. And why did you leave me.”

I try at length to take these  shadows from her. But they have become such familiar landscapes, that she would no longer recognize, or feel safe at all, beneath a canopy of Starlight without a dark cloud.

In a way, it has always been this way. In spite of this, she Mothered three children. Offering soft blankets, Christmas Tree Lights, Spaghetti and meatballs, and shelter from the storms of childhood. She steadied herself though her knees were weak and her heart was in tatters. She did her best to Love out loud and always. She constantly sang. Self consciously and out of tune, yet full throttled and from the heart.

Old age is getting harder on her. The ghosts are gathering.

But so are the Spirits of all that is and ever shall be.

I will merge with them as we form ourselves into soft, warm blankets filled with Light. To Hold Her close and sing to her throughout the coming Night.



I 

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