Clocking In

I didn’t quit my job of loving, when you stopped punching your time card.

I clock in to life,  heart uncallused by the

rough, 24-hour, work of losing. I freely

hope, with splinters of grief digging deep into my soul.

Faith, joy and compassion embrace the world

with a work ethic that suicide cannot render

unconscious to the world around me.

faith mental health poetry Uncategorized

Inside a Suicide Mom’s Locket

Suicide took future pictures of you

So I open the locket of my soul wide.

And share who you were

Not who you will be.

 

I trace chubby cheeks, as the rhythm

of the rocker sings you to sleep. Breathe

deeply your baby scent.

I squeal with delight at first steps and words.

Bandage scrapes, wipe tears, and kiss bruises.

I listen to life beating hard with

challenges no child should bear,

and ache for God to heal you inside and out.

 

God, I try to understand why you allowed this unfinished

work of art to be painted into my life.

 

Today, I have no calls from your college dorm, no

laughter as you burst through the door for Christmas.

No bride on your arm, for me to share funny stories with,

and no grandchildren for me one day to cherish . . .

 

These are the things I can’t quite release. I long

for them. I had hoped for them. So I open my heart

wider still, until joy paints a new picture into  the

empty memories of where you should be.

faith mental health poetry Uncategorized