Worst Storm of My Life

OCTOBER 12, 2020

4:00 AM October 12, 1994
The phone on my nightstand is RINGING
My father calls to rain bad news
Your mother is Not Breathing
I just called an ambulance; your sister is on her way 

A Grief Storm begins
but I don’t recognize the signs
I am also Not Breathing

We bury my 57-year-old mother
I become the Calm Before the Storm
Eerily quiet, focused
I am still Not Breathing

It is my turn to speak (!)
I try to suck in a clean breath of air
From a climate too dense with humidity

Walking towards the podium
My ears are pounding surf and I am deaf
I cannot take in the sound of the death of my mother

Stepping out from behind the “family only” curtain
I feel over-exposed to the Elements of Earth
The Chapel is packed, standing room only
It’s my turn to speak
And I’m blinded by a thick fog
I can’t hear; I can’t see
I am still Not Breathing

But it’s my one opportunity to speak
At my Mother’s Funeral (?)
Fuck it.
I square my shoulders and walk to the podium.

Finally breathing…I Am my Mother’s Daughter
Who she was, is who I am
And Love never dies

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