My heart ached to tell him how much I loved him.
My voice made sounds, my hands gestured,
but he didn't know.
My arms ached to hold him till all the pain was gone,
but only quick hugs were accepted and the pain went on.
My hands tried to write the things that lay upon my breast,
but words were hard to come and when they did were misunderstood.
And he didn't know.
Mistakes of the past sometimes haunt me,
but life doesn't permit us to live over again.
We are both different people now, grown and changed and stronger,
yet, when we tried to relate.
Some force stood between us that made our attempts
feeble or low,
and we remained lonely - we two...
Oh, I wanted him to know.
Conversations were never really that, nay,
rather they were some disabled ritual
that blamed and shamed; controlled and condemned.
Denial and anger, underlying demons that kept us apart.
Words triggered some long forgotten thing,
that, somehow, the body remembered
and we reacted, instead of responded, which we both
How could he know?
Woundedness, so great.. it didn't know how to forgive.
Pain, so awful, it wanted to hurt back.
I didn't want him to please me, he didn't have to perform for me,
Yet, I couldn't end his search for significance.
That remedy had to come from the Eternal Source!
Did he know?
But, hope springs eternal in this mother's breast.
For a son, somehow lost, even with love expressed.
There are too many good things, too many who care
Bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh
I will love you forever and I trust there will come a day,
When, surely, (please God!)
He will know.