Number-one bestselling author
When I was a young man,
I wished for you.
Magic was real to me,
even back then.
I wished for a man
who would carry love within him
and that he wouldn’t be afraid
to let that love shine out
through his eyes
and his gentle touch.
I wished for someone
who would love me as I am
and not ask me to change
who I was or who I wanted to be.
Lastly, I wished for a man
who would help me to see
how beautiful the world was
and that I belonged within it.
When I met you,
I had spent so long in the dark forest,
defeating all manner of beasts,
that I wasn’t willing to believe
that my Prince
had finally found me.
When I heard you speak my name,
I turned to look upon you
and you were bathed in light.
Your light was reflected in my own
as we forged a life together.
With a gentle hand clasping mine,
we’ve journeyed to the end of the earth,
and the love has not faded from your eyes
when you look at me.
You have never once
tried to change any part of me,
often seeing me more clearly
than I can see myself.
Though life has been full of difficulties,
it has also been full of so many blessings,
the biggest one being that I get to
live a life with you
with our love growing stronger every day.
I often feel like I’m reading a love story
found in an old book that seems to sparkle
all the brighter when the pages are turned.
Though I don’t know what our story
will hold for us,
I know that as long as we are together,
anything is possible and the magic
that shines bright between us,
will help us find our way.
You are the first woman
that I knew in my life.
Not only did you raise me,
but you taught me lessons
that are more valuable
as the years go onward.
You taught me that kindness
is a very special magic.
Every time you soothed a hurt
with a kiss or a soft touch,
I immediately felt better.
I realized that kindness was like that;
it may seem hard to do,
but it’s the small acts of kindness
that matter the most.
Other times, you taught me
about the value of bravery
and that it’s within all of us.
You taught me that sometimes,
it’s loving ourselves requires
the most bravery of all,
but that love is indeed possible.
Using your magic,
you made the mountains
in front of me disappear,
the obstacles in my path
seem less frightening and
the landscape of self-doubt
shrink from a massive desert
to a single grain of sand.
You continue to show me
how loved I am as a person
and you never let me believe
that there is something I can’t do.
Today and every day,
please know that I so grateful
for all that you do and
I’m honoured beyond words
to call you Mom.
Grief is malleable.
It shifts and moves like water through the mind.
There are steps that have been forgotten.
Grief is a caterpillar in the cocoon,
and it has to completely
lose its form and become nothing
before it takes its final shape,
growing from muck and sorrow
into a being that is able to fly away,
giving colour and hope to the sky.
They speak of denial and anger,
bargaining and depression,
but they have forgotten the unwinding,
that process of removing someone
from your very psyche.
It’s like a glass chalice that has fractured,
leaving you to remove the shards,
piece by piece.
They have misplaced balance
and so have you as you try to
find your way forward missing something
that you cannot name.
There is the unknowing,
where you look at yourself in the mirror,
no longer knowing who you are
without that person who
has been by your side for so long.
Before you even reach the final stage of acceptance,
wishfulness has to happen.
You look at photos from long ago
and you wish you could go back to that moment
when everything was fine and have no knowledge
of what would happen in the future.
The word depression is also a misnomer.
They should have called it the river
as your emotions will keep trying to pull you under the water.
That’s when you realize that you’ve forgotten how to swim.
Before you can accept your wings and stand on shaking legs,
letting the wind take you where it will,
you will also have to raise walls and boundaries
around yourself so that you will never be hurt again.
However, you will have to be careful.
You don’t want to find yourself in a labyrinth
where no one can find you and you become lost, even to yourself.
You will have to complete the searching,
making sure that the boundaries are safe and solid,
but that there is a window or two in place to let the light in
before you can take flight once more.
He says one word to me.
“Birds.”
I’ve seen him wandering the halls
of my dreams and when I try
to engage him in conversation,
all he says is that one word.
I wonder what the word means to him,
or if it should mean something to me.
There is joy in his eyes when he speaks that word,
and in my dreams, I look to the sky,
wondering if I can fly into the blue
while I’m in this dream state.
There is a knock on my door.
When I open it, he is standing there,
a huge smile upon his face.
“Birds!” he says and motions upward.
I look up and I see that he’s ran a string along the hallway.
Upon that string are pictures of birds,
all kinds of them, hanging from that string
with clothespins, tape and paperclips.
Where he has not been able to find a picture,
the word “Bird” has been written in different colours.
In my third eye,
I look down the string and see that it leads
back farther than I can see.
I wonder if they have woven themselves
through every moment that I have lived through
and, somehow, they have led me back home
to myself to who I was meant to be all along.
“Birds!” He says, pointing at the paper birds.
A breeze begins to fill the hallway
causing the paper to ripple and move
as if the birds are getting ready
to fly.
“I still have that piece you gave me. You can have it back.”
It’s like I can see the words
floating in the air in front of me.
“I put your painting with the rest of the give away pile.”
I think of the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland,
how the words rushed towards her,
sent through the air like projectiles.
I’m reeling from the gut punch,
the metaphorical slap in the face.
Every piece of writing or painting I do
has a piece of me within it.
If you look very carefully,
you can see the bit of my spirit
imbibed within the ink or the paint
shining outward for all to see.
“Your art didn’t fit my aesthetic, so I put it in the basement.”
I tell them that I’m insulted and offended.
I picture my art,
so colouful and bright
hiding in the dark like I had to
for most of my life.
“I don’t understand why you’re upset over this.”
I try to tell them why,
that it wasn’t just art to me,
that I had given them a part of me,
and that part of me was meant for them
to fill their home with light.
“I think you’re projecting your anger onto me because you’re angry about something else.”
I stare at the word cloud
as the consonants and vowels take shape
above my head and I do
the only thing that I can think of doing.
I wave my hands in the air to clear the smoke
before the letters can
choke me and I start to believe
their words.