One Last Good Day (for Mama)
One last good day
(seems like yesterday)
we sat in her hospital room
drinking coffee and
shooting the shit about
the old days and Blanche and
all that was impossible to believe
yet still hysterically true…
Crow’s feet clung to her eyes.
Her lover of 40 years, Bel-Airs,
left crack-etched scars on her lips
so rooted in her nicotine habit.
Next day, she eroded, the disease
wove its coma cocoon, strength
so scarce at the last.
This stasis, this vegetation…
Her body, temple turned cell,
imprisoned her soul.
Lord, in your mercy, you
rained down her release.
Amen.
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
The Sunday Whirl’s Brenda gave us an interesting list, and somehow it turned into this true story of my mother and me. On that last good day, I gave her permission to die, which she craved more than I knew until I said the words. She teared up and said, “Really?”
My mother, Charlotte, went through hell during her final hospitalization, and I’m glad she’s been at peace for 21 years. This also appears at Open Link Monday for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, where I suspect Charlotte’s spirit is hiding amid the ferns, looking for a book of matches… Amy
Sharp Little Pencil 
oldegg
Every death is also a little death for those that mourn. This is especially so for one who has been so much a part of your life. The prompt words were certainly conducive to writing on this theme. So a lot of tears were probably shed this week.
Sharp Little Pencil
We always say funerals and memorial services are for the living – you know, they have passed on and we are left to pick up pieces. This happened 21 years ago, but it’s fresh in my mind. Thanks, Robin.
Susie Clevenger (@wingsobutterfly)
Amy, this is so powerful. It is so hard to stand by a loved one’s bed when they are suffering and give the permission to leave. My mother had Alzheimer’s and she got pneumonia and was in a coma before I could get from Texas back to Missouri where she was in the hospital. As soon as I got to the room, I held her hand and told her it was alright for her to go.
“Lord, in your mercy, you
rained down her release.
Amen.” And I say amen with you.
I HAVE A VOICE
awesome vast emotions !
Polly Robinson
This is amazing, Amy. A touching tribute.
Sharp Little Pencil
Thanks, Polly. They say write what you know… and who you know.
kaykuala
So moving and so beautiful in a moment of sadness and triumph. A posting steeped in realism and dealt with as much with dedication and warmth Taken with such sincerity that Ms Charlotte took it in her stead without as much regret as it was love. Brilliant Amelita!
Hank
Sharp Little Pencil
Hank, what a lovely compliment. Your connection with this poem is gratifying. She did die the next day, without the curse of the Laughlin women – guilt. Thank you for this, Hank. Gracias, Amelita
Roger Green
I remember my mom’s last day, in Charlotte, as it turned out, in Feb 2011. My sisters were convinced she was getting better – and I wasn’t there until then, so maybe so. Then the next morning, while I was present, but not entirely aware, she died. I was really…weird.
Sharp Little Pencil
In the city of Charlotte, how ironic!
I think the closer one is geographically, the more likely to see “improvement” instead of recognizing that last day. (I am the exception to the rule, but only because my mom and I were – quite inappropriately – best friends.)
She waited for you to get there and say your goodbyes: this I believe. When our loved ones are close to death, things are clearer for them. They know what they want and need, and she needed to know you were there with her. Thanks for this, Roger. AMy
J Cosmo Newbery
Bloody brilliant Amy! So good to see such a thoughtful composition that incorporated the words but also made such a coherent and rounded piece. Give yourself a Bunny Stamp and debit my account.
Sharp Little Pencil
Wow, Cos, thank you for this. Your insightful comment and compliments, much appreciated. And I will get my Bunny stamp when I go out, if I ever get my butt away from this computer!! A
The Real Cie
Sorry about your loss, and sorry about the racist douche canoe making things worse.
I recently wrote a poem for my father on my poetry blog. He passed at the end of November 2010.
Sharp Little Pencil
Cie, I will look for your poem about your dad. Feel free to leave specific URLs in the body of messages here; I love being able to go directly to the poem a commenter wanted me to read.
As for the racist douche, he clodhoppered away back under his rock. All is well in Amyland. Thx for your concern. Peace, Amy
ihatepoetry
Hey,sistah – I really liked this. There is beauty in such moments, and I know it’s strange that people feel the need to ask for permission before they die. Beautiful – a great tribute to the mother of one of the best / my favorite writers on the planet, love from el Mosk
Sharp Little Pencil
Aw, one of you fave writers on planet? You obviously have not checked out the poets of the moon… but yo know I feel the same about you.
Thanks for the, bruddah mine. Yes, it’s strange to need permission, but when I told my mother, “I promise I’ll never say you quit on me,” her eyes filled with tears… that’s when she said, “Really?” How sad, but what a moving event in my life, helping her find her way past this life, across that thin veil.
Love you. Ameleh
Kim or Lisa
This is such a touching piece. My heart goes out to you and your family.
Jim
Hi Amy ~~ this does what a good poem should do quite nicely. It made me think of mrs Jim’s and my parents’ deaths.
You were very fortunate in having this precious last day to visit with your mom. Except for being in the house when her dad died we missed “being there” for a last visit.
You portrayed so very well how much help your being there helped.
Thank you for your info about taking the Lord’s name in vain’s association with the 2nd and/or 3rd. Yes, I was baiting there for someone to tell me swearing wouldn’t be the reason one would go to Hell. I could tell you thought perhaps to do it and seeing through me.
..
We are in London now. There is a Beattles jacket picture of them crossing Abney Road. The song called it Abbey Lane. Our daughter and family live about 450 feet from that crossing.
The picture I took from above is of the M&M “people” in that recreated cross walk holding a Beattle pose as all the tourists do. This was in the M&M building.
..
Sharp Little Pencil
Well, I love the M&M shot. Funny that I thought is was a xylophone!!
The Commandment thing was just to clear up for other folks and also to see which one you intended? As for me, with my PTSD, if I drop something, it’s like Tourette’s – I swear like a sailor. I don’t really believe in Hell (except here on earth), but if I did, I’d be goin’ in a handbasket just for swearing. OF course, my sister thinks I’m going there for “tolerating” the “choice” (as if) of my lesbian daughter. the choice was to come out or live a lie, and we both support her, as does her birth father, for being honest with the world. Courageous.
The judgmental will go first, anyway, ha ha ha ha.
Very cool vacation, Him. Didn’t know that about Abbey Road (the Lane was Penny, I think). Safe travels, babe, and the best to your family. Amy
himanirawatnayal
Our mind often take us back into the time when we had live the most for someone and something… and without our realizing it gets embedded in our memory.
Sharp Little Pencil
Thank you for your comment. It’s true; many of my poems are drawn on long-ago memories. Sometimes it brings added comfort to a loss, even 20 years later. Please leave a URL next time, in case you have a blog, because I love to visit! Peace, Amy
Sherry Blue Sky
Fabulous write, Amy. That “permission to die” is such a gift to the suffering. I love this poem.
Sharp Little Pencil
I hope when my time comes, I am given that “one good day” and I know Lex and Riley would understand. That’s what real love is all about. Take care during your Doggie Invasion! Love, Amy
brenda w
This is a strong story poem, Amy. You blessed your mother with permission, and time spent together. I’m glad the words brought you here.
Sharp Little Pencil
Brenda, I looked at the Wordle and it was like there was no choice. I’m sure you know the feeling… going to your blog now! Thanks so much for all your hard work at Sunday Whirl. Amy
Maggie Grace
This is sad and painful to read though I understand the want for release at the end. I want to just smack a cigarette out of anyone’s mouth…but I just do it in my head. Thank you for sharing this beautiful and difficult write.
Sharp Little Pencil
I feel such sympathy for nicotine addicts. A friend came by and lit up in my presence – I’m so allergic from 35 years in clubs, it’s not funny. But it was one of those new electronic cigs, and I did not detect any odor. Perhaps it’s trading smoking for a gadget, but maybe it will help him quit.
I tell folks, it’s never too late. Mom? All she wanted besides permission was just one more Bel-Air so she could cough up a lung. So sad. And thank you for acknowledging the difficulty… you’re right. AMy
magicalmysticalteacher
I’m chuckling at your final note about Charlotte looking for a book of matches! One of my sons is a smoker, and just can’t seem to kick the habit. As your poem so powerfully illustrates, though, smoking is no laughing matter.
An Acrostic Whirl
Sharp Little Pencil
I agree, no laughing matter… but the Black Irish side of my family (my mom and Blanche and me) all excelled at dark humor. During that conversation, 20 years ago, I said, “You know, Mama, like you always say, this, too, shall pass.”
“Yeah,” she replied. “Like a kidney stone!” And we both cracked up. Hope your son is able to realize it’s an addiction that can be helped by the 12-step program; also, a friend of mine got those electric cigs, and he smoked at my table with no effect on MY lungs whatsoever… I don’t know about his… A.
vandana
none can replace a mother;s part or love in our life.
Nanka
Amy!! “Lord, in your mercy, you rained down her release.” Amen. You sing a silent kind of prayer here. Much peacefulness and calm, that you had maintained came alive today after 21 years. Some memories are tragedies bringing about bitter pain and some words here today bear scar marks of heartache written on your brain.
Much peace to you Amy..
Sharp Little Pencil
Nanka, I think the balance is struck between the sometimes bittersweet but usually funny memories of my mom and her mother, Blanche – as compared to the horrible but sometimes fun memories of Dad and his incestuous illness.
Thank you for the “silent prayer” comment. It meant the world to me. Peace, Amy
Kalpanaaa
Very moving! Very evocative too for me of the time when my father lay in his hospital bed. Yes – difficult to read and remember but beautiful and fascinating too. Thank you
Sharp Little Pencil
Anyone who has lost a parent slowly, in hospital for days or weeks, knows what this is like. Thank you for sharing your thoughts about your father. It’s never easy, I know. I’m so glad you visited me! Amy
Pamela
Oh, Amelita, this brought back memories of my mom, whose birthday is today. I miss her so, though she never smoked, in fact she hated cigarettes. I sense the closeness you had with her here. I too, come from an Irish family. A lot of sarcasm was always floating round in the air. Thanks for sharing this with us.
Pamelita
Sharp Little Pencil
Hey, Pamelita, don’t we always find commonalities through our sharing of poetry? One of the things I love most about blogging. What is it about that Irish humor that invites sarcasm and crusty lungs being a source of amusement, especially when they are one’s own? I think it’s that self-deprecation found in many cultures, but the Irish give it that dark twist. Paz, Amelita
Sara v
Amy, you gave me chills, goosebumps and tears–what a scene, her lover of 40 years–Chesterfields–loved that line–my grandma smoked those too 🙂 Keep those wonderful words coming.
Sharp Little Pencil
Sara, it’s funny the lovers we take on during life that are not human, no? Mine is Dove Bars, a far cry from Mama’s choices. Thanks, hon. Amy