To Return No More
As I sat and watched a face like mine -
a mirror image, tears coursed down my face - a face that was filled with life.
I imagined seeing a tear running down her face too, but her face was cold and
lifeless. My birth mother had passed away. She was also a poet.
Her last poem, Birth of Little Virginia, was given to me by my aunt)
As my children, fiance' and I attended the funeral services,
we all cried for what wasn't and what could have been. We cried for times
we had been left out of and times we had missed. The tears flowed like
water from a fountain and still nothing could be reversed. Time could not
be turned back.
As I sat and continued to watch my mother's face, I was
transported away from the church where she lay. I floated back forty some
years. Here I was a forty-seven year old woman with three children of my
own and I find myself reverting back to my childhood. A childhood where I
am abandoned by my mother. I did not let myself think about this until
this very moment. I was falling apart. My soul seemed to be ripped
apart from the seams, from the hinges and piece by little piece; adulthood was
no longer within my being. The strength I thought that I had possessed no
longer existed. I became that little child reaching for her mother.
I wanted to be picked up, comforted, kissed and patted on the head. As I
looked around, I did not see her. I searched for that bond that should
have been there. A bond that would have connected us. One that
consisted of love and compassion. I screamed out, "Mommy, mommy, I
want you, I need you now." "Mommy, where have you gone?"
I couldn't hear the words that someone was saying. I was lost someplace
else. I was away from the church and the minister and family. A new
family to me. Ones that I did not know whether I wanted to get to know or
not. I was so removed; lost within my emotions. Emotions that I had
kept bottled up inside of me for forty-seven years. Tears that should have
been spilled were locked away deep within me. I yelled again, I cried,
"Mommy where are you when I need you so?" The hot tears scalded
my face and my soul as they streamed down my face. Through all of my tears
and my screams, there was no response. My mother was walking away from me.
I ran as fast as my little short legs could carry me. Tears continued to
flow. My lips trembled; I was out of breath and had a horrible pain in my
chest. I felt defeated, weakened and lost, but I still ran on. I ran
through the terrible storms, the thick fog and smoke. I fell down in the
mud. I was covered with dirt and grime but still I ran on trying to catch
up with my mother. I never needed her so much as I needed her now.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and could clearly see her.
She was within arms reach. I leapt forward in order to quickly grab her
hand. She looked at me and quickly backed away. My mother wouldn't
let me reach her, wouldn't allow me to touch her hand. She wouldn't speak
one word to me or at me. I tried my hardest to
grab her as she then began to run away from me. If I could have gotten
close enough to have only smelled her cologne or to see the color of her eyes,
that would have been satisfaction to me. I quickened my pace and again my
tiny legs gave way on me. I fell. Panting and sweating, I got up and
continued this race after my mother. I couldn't stand for long. I
continued falling and shrieking, "Mommy, Mommy, M-O-M-M-Y." I
felt someone rubbing my back and my shoulders. I thought she had changed
her mind and come back to me. She wants me and loves me, I thought to
myself. I needed this comfort and love from her badly. As I opened
my eyes, I did not see Mommy but saw my fiancé trying to console and quiet my
voice. My mother was there but only in death. I had to face reality,
she was gone. Her body was here, but her soul had long descended to the
clouds. There was no longer a time when I could fantasize about seeing her
or experiencing how we looked so much alike. The time was gone where I
could think to myself, we still have time to meet and get to know each other.
This fantasy was over and done with.
As reality struck, I realized that I could never tell my
mother face to face that I loved her. She could never tell me that she
loved me too. We wouldn't be able to have those mother/daughter talks that
I longed for. We would never share our life's experiences of
heartaches and happiness. My mother would not see and hug her
grandchildren (my children). They were denied the pleasure of getting to
know her and lovingly give her hugs and kisses.
At the cemetery, the pain in my chest had subsided and so had
my tears. I viewed the closed coffin and said, "Goodbye Mother'"
as I placed a rose upon it. It was a relief to finally be able to call her
mother and not Edna as I would do whenever talking about her.
My mother is gone to return no more. But whenever I
look in the mirror, I see her through my reflection. We can not hold
conversations together, but I converse with her through my poetry and other
writings. My legacy left to me from my mother lies within the words, the phrases
and sentences I compose.
That will make our connection last forever. My
writings hold some of her spirit because she did not continue with her writing.
I suppose she is now looking down and seeing herself within me as some of my
words reach out and gently touch her.
By: Virginia Bryan
Virginia Bryan
email: bryancras2897@cs.com
PO Box 635,
Neptune, NJ 07753-4660