when I was five and life was a song of
excitement and innocence
the world was full of mystery
and I had never felt
the pain of hurt or loss of
any kind and then
one day
a playmate pushed me right off the swing
you picked me up brushed me off
told me not to cry
‘mommy,’ I said,
‘it hurts’
when I was sixteen and in love for the first time
to a young Cuban girl I felt like
an adult doing adult things
dates and kissing and groping
and late-night phone calls with the
cord stretched and twisted through the house
and under my door and then
one day
she left me for another teenage crush
and I felt world-ending
anguish burning, hot, consuming
as only a teenager can feel them
you held me close
told me I’d be ok
‘but mom,’ said I,
‘it hurts.’
when I was thirty-five at the end of my marriage
holding on to it with desperate and futile hands
trying to be a good father to my sons
who put me on a pedestal high enough
to rival the gods
I fought depression
and anger
even as I felt co-dependent longing
for the woman who was
breaking my heart
there at the end of that marriage
one day
you held your grandchildren
and me
and told us we’d be ok
‘mom,’ I said
‘it hurts.’
when I was thirty-eight and dying
from the cancer eating my body
repulsed by
the very sight of my
shriveled and sunken body with
chemotherapy eyes set deep
deep inside my skull
and scars on my body finally
making me as ugly in life as I felt inside
I despaired and I grieved
the loss of innocence
in my children and the burden
on my new girlfriend
one day
you sat by my bedside
and held my hand,
told me the kids
and I
were stronger than I knew
‘but mom’ I said, looking
at their pictures,
‘it hurts.’
when I was forty and strong again,
recovered from cancer
and from divorce
my scars a badge of character and honor
with a beautiful new bride by my side
a new life to live
and a new daughter to love
that day
you lay in a hospital bed
clinging desperately to life
machines to monitor
tubes to breath
nurses to care and
doctors to treat
I held your hand, like you always held mine,
alongside
your daughter (my sister) and
your other son (my brother)
as you breathed your last
even as I
sobbed at your passing
and fell into the arms of my wife and siblings
I wondered
selfishly
who now will hold me like you did
like only you could
because oh god, mom
it hurts.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my mom lately; she passed away in November, 2010. This is for her.