June 8th -A Poem
My screen keeps reminding me,
As if it has something to gain.
That tomorrow is the day of my birth
The first without the one who did the birthing.
When she still understood the phone
She would always call to ask if I got her card
(yes-it was always early)
And to tell the same joke as how she was there for the first one.
Even after the calls and cards had faded with her memory
She would smile when reminded.
“I was there…”
But now she is not
As this birthday drawls near
I am reminded how
Lewis observed his grief was surprised by fear.
And it’s not the dread of death that is stalking
But its in the lossing
of the one who bore witness in the bearing
the life-giver’s silencing