As A Mother Should

I already knew
That you were gone
Before the neighbour told me
I was out at the Hermitage
Feeling the incredible release
Of the end of your life
You had let go
Taken your last breath
It echoed, Dad said
Round the ward
Maybe it was trying to find me
Maybe it did.

And then I was alone
In the living room
No fatherly hugs
No union of grief
No permission for tears
My bones had walked
The earth for seventeen years
Not long enough

I just remember sitting
At a kitchen table
Which had forgotten
The solidarity of meals
Staring at a window
And the indifferent sky
I don't remember getting up

When Dad got back
I don't remember
He found his daughter
Just getting on with it
He was relieved I think
He got on with the practical stuff
Asked me what I wanted
I said her wedding ring
I have it still of course
And some bits and pieces
Fragments that still held her smell

I was tasked
With emptying the medicine
Cabinet. So many bottles.
I only remember the Temazepam
And the Questran.
Probably because it sounds like Question.

I think
No I know
That I am still sat at that table
Waiting
So I walk over to me
Kneel beside me
Look into my eyes
I have lived twenty-one
Years longer than this
Child who cannot even cry
I am old enough to be her mother
I say "oh love, I'm sorry"
And I put my arms securely round her
And tell her it's ok, I'm here, let it all out.
And we stay like this for a long time
She leans against me
And I stroke her hair
Eventually her body relaxes
Gets the message it can let go
I tell her I am here for her
For always
As a mother should.