Grey like this Or gray like that. At least with May It's spelt one way. It's one word Two spellings is just absurd. But how do I honor you, What you went through. If I can't figure out Without a doubt, What the hell way To spell the word grey/gray.
May is grey. but for me Every day is grey Surrounded by reminders. Myself, I am a reminder. Of everything you were. Everything you did. May is graduation. It's supposed to be happy. And I am Happy. But my happy has, A black hole of anger, and sadness in the middle And I fall into it daily. Sometimes hourly. And May isn't as happy. As it should be. Could have be. If you were here with me. Grey in May. Grey all Day. Every day In every way. I think of you And miss you too.
Losing my mom before my 30's taught me a lot about life. It's short. Short in the "she was in remission for eight years, there's no way it could come back" short. Because it did. Come back.
It showed me what it feels like when the air is physically ****** out of the room - the feeling of a soul leaving the body. And that even the most private of people may still want their family surrounding them during their last breaths. It taught me how to administer the correct amount of morphine, consol a father who is inconsolable and pick the "perfect" urn. I learned there is a part of myself I will never get back because I was a part of her and she a part of me.
I will never just 'get over this.' Somedays I feel like no one remembers or cares and for that Mom, I am sorry. I know you're never coming back but I still somehow hold onto a small sliver of hope that you will. And when I realize you're not, The wave hits me again. And again Onto my *** and each time It becomes harder and harder to stand back up.
A dreadful thing comes into your life You might have to go under the knife It can spread It's in her head It is going to **** her It is just going to transfer I can’t afford to lose another I can't lose another grandmother She beat it before Can she take more?