12 Feb 2024
I didn’t know how you suffered when your mother died,
even though I tried to stay awake and comfort you when I was four.
I didn’t know you found yourself blocks from home,
at the cemetery mourning for your mamma buried in another town,
terrified when you realised you didn’t know how you got there,
and that your five children were home alone.
I didn’t know how much you cried when you dropped me off at school that first day.
I didn’t know the local banker told you that you could borrow until your next pay,
if you came to see him after hours,
or how you struggled for us to eat.
I didn’t know how you tried to protect us from an apathetic father,
or how much it hurt your heart when I would ask where he was.
I didn’t know how much fear you had being a single parent,
wondering how you would make it with us from day to day,
or the terror of what would happen to us if something happened to you.
I didn’t know how you had to swallow your pride,
over and over again,
when you finally found a partner who could help with expenses,
but whose limited intellect and racism you, you despised.
I didn’t know how much you wanted your life to matter,
not just to your five children,
but to the elderly you cared for at work.
I didn’t know how difficult it must have been for you to go back to study,
while working nights and caring for five young children.
I didn’t know why you weren’t home that morning,
as I - your last child to leave home - waited for you,
my car packed for university,
waiting to see you to say “goodbye”.
I didn’t know how terrified you were of being alone,
that first night must have been the worst.
First child at 16,
and now only 40 years old and all alone.
I didn’t know how hard those years were,
as you tried to put on a brave face.
I didn’t know how much you worried about me,
as the mother of my child abandoned us when he was four.
How much you must have suffered for me,
not just because you were my mother,
but because you too had lived through similar.
I didn’t know how important it was when you sang to me,
encouraging me to keep going,
“If we make it through December, everything’s gonna be alright, I know . . . “
I didn’t know how much of your steadfast love for family would become a part of me.
I didn’t know how you worried about me,
year after year.
I didn’t know how much you loved me.
I didn’t know how quickly you would go.
I didn’t know last Christmas day,
as we were opening presents,
that this call would be your last,
that this would be the last time we would speak.
I would have been more attentive.
So much I didn’t know, then.
Aroha nui,
Lee Sturgis
leesturgis.eth
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