Four long months,
She is gone,
For a reason,
I do know,
But we do not speak about.
I asked,
If I could go with her,
But she said no.

I welcome the faint scent,
Of her rose perfume.
My eyes soak in,
The empty kitchen,
Vases, and barren garden.
These sights were once foreign,
But now, I am greeted by them,
Everyday, for the past four long months.

I see her,
In my dreams.
Believing she is next to me,
Patting my head.
I don’t want to wake up,
Because when I do,
I wake up to a nightmare.

When I think of my mother,
I used to picture,
A graceful woman,
Arranging bouquets and planting her favorite roses in the garden.
Strands of her delicate hair have escaped the grasp of her hair tie,
And frame her face.
A new image has taken over my mind,
Writing over the previous.
She is dressed in black.
She no longer wears a bright smile on her face.
Instead, she mourns her parents’ deaths.


Today, after waiting four long months,
I will see her.
I am nervous.
How has she changed?
How have I changed?
I do not know what to expect.

While some embrace change,
I have barely seen it approach me.
Change never asked me, if I wanted it.
Change does not ask,
It only happens.
Sometimes it goes unnoticed,
Other times it is unforgivable.
The latter is the type of Change,
I am experiencing and expecting,
For my mother to have gone through as well.