"MOM" (c) 2006, Revised 2009, Karla Dorman (3/17)

when i was five, stuck fast to
the bed with nightmares, i screamed
for Mom.  stomping up the stairs,
larger than fear itself (at
least in my mind).  she came and
unbucked me into her
lap.  i knew i was safe, then.

when i had a bad day at
school, i could count on her to
make things right.  no bullies could
reach around her to get to
me:  there, in her arms, i was
loved and protected, and life
would be better tomorrow.

                                                  she died nineteen years ago today.

and here i am, a child in
an adult's body, still scared
of the dark, rolled around by
sudden storms -- a ship that has
lost its anchor.  i feel lost
and alone in the world:  how
could she have left me this way?

i miss Mom's presence in my
life:  how i wish i  could run
to the comfort that she gave.
nothing could harm me as long
as she was near, an angel,
my provider, God in the
form of what love was:  my Mom.

                                                  and now Daddy's gone, too ...

orphaned.  abandoned.  you
never get over the loss of
your parents, no matter how
old you get, especially when
you were as blessed as i
was, who had a loving Mom
and Dad.  some not that lucky.

                                                  i was.  and how i miss them.