The Beautiful Awful

My mom would have turned 77 today. It's been nearly 3 years since she died and I still miss her every day. I wrote this poem a few months after her death, shared it with 3 people and put it away. My sister reminded me of it tonight and I think I'm now far enough away from the intensely emotional last days of her life to put it out there.

My mom was so loud and gregarious. So full of life and energy. She didn't go out quietly. I stayed by her side those last 24 hours. It was the greatest privilege and the most terrible thing I've ever known.


The Beautiful Awful

I witnessed the birth of my mother
A grueling 24-hour labor

In the days leading up to her death, time walked backwards

She was incessantly chatty like a schoolgirl
On her last car ride, she turned her unlotioned face to the sun because "who cares about skin cancer"
She unloaded all of her stuff

When hospice arrived, she pulled me close and pierced me in her gaze, begging to know what they were saying
How much longer?
What are the signs?

A doula knows these things:
How to recognize the breathing changes
How to reply to the pleading "Help me"
How to make a mother more comfortable

I knew nothing
Futilely plumping pillows, rolling the dead weight from side to side, promising everything would be okay
When everything was awful

I just wish I had let her take her shirt off
So she could go out as she came in
Inching her tumor-ravaged shell through an invisible passage
Into something that is—that must be—
Beautiful.

© 2019 Amy Bordoni

A miracle how life goes on

Awhile ago I started a poem that resurfaced unexpectedly this weekend. It was better than I remembered, and with a few tweaks, I decided to call it done. (That's the trouble with poems. You can rework them to death and never finish anything.)

I started this after witnessing the near-death (or serious injury) of 2 pedestrians in the same week during my walking commute from work to the train and marveled at how easily any of us could meet our end a million times a day, but miraculously go on. Living so acutely aware of what could happen is a thin edge to skate as it could surely drive one crazy with worry. But somehow these brushes with mortality just keep me more aware of how wondrous life really is.


Dodging

It’s a miracle to make it through the day without dying.

Jogger, with her earphones in, darts across the intersection on a red light
Car screeches stop within inches
Driver jumps out crying and hugs her
Gaping-mouthed pedestrians look on

Train passes, gates down, man rushes out
Then jumps back within inches
As horn blares from the other direction
Commuters gasp and shake

Airplane touches down on the tarmack—
Eyes open after the sutures close—
Thief doesn’t pull the trigger—
100-year-old maple shading the bedroom rides out the storm again—

Every day the whole world crumbles
At someone else’s feet.

Inexplicably, your heart beats on.

© 2019 Amy Bordoni

friday haiku

evening air heavy
with lilac, honeysuckle
top cocktail of spring

inspired by looking up

waning crescent left behind

a fingernail moon

hangs in the blue sky

of morning

like a lost child

not yet aware

that Ursa Major and Ursa Minor

and little Cassiopeia

have disappeared

friday haiku

the germination
of a seed, never ceases
to be a wonder

friday haiku (and a happy birthday)

fourteen years ago
this sweet face changed everything
hearts split wide open

::

A couple years ago we had all of our old camcorder tapes put onto DVD so we could finally sit down and watch the hours of video we shot when Liam was little. Some of my favorite footage is of 3-year-old Liam serenading his months-old brother with a little red Gibson Flying V electric guitar plugged into an amp. Liam is strumming away with full intensity and no melody whatsoever, sing-shouting about gorillas and ham sandwiches.

We've joked about sending the footage to America's Funniest Home Videos, but undoubtedly no one else would find it as endearingly hilarious as we do. As the mom of this intensely passionate and creative boy, watching the video always puts a lump in my throat. How did I get such a crazy-cool kid?

Today this little firecracker continues to amaze me. He still puts that same intensity into his guitar practice, but the sounds coming out are whole lot more melodic. He spends a couple hours a week glued to the piano bench, draws with exquisite precision, flips seemingly effortlessly on the trampoline and blows us all away in his understanding of mathematical concepts and theories. But he's not one to tout his abilities. Although at first glance the videos of Liam at 3 years old may have told a different story, this boy has never been one for the spotlight. He's not a performer. He just does what he loves.

Because his baby brother has had developmental and medical needs that have taken a lot of time and emotional energy, Liam hasn't always gotten his fair share of attention and probably shoulders more responsibility than most kids his age. Sometimes it kind of sucks. But the quiet compassion and insight he shows seems pretty uncommon in boys his age.

I'm so grateful for this kid. His kind heart, resiliency and wisdom beyond his years. These are the qualities that truly amaze me. Happy birthday to my little rockstar. I suspect you'll put a lump in my throat forever.

friday haiku

the thing with feathers
perched in a love note to a friend
when no words will do