72. Fly Away

For twenty-nine years I waited for my mother to die,

wrote a story and hid it well:

My Mother’s Diary.

 

When Mom first got cancer, I was a child.

She wouldn’t last long.

But it came and went,

came and went again,

came back.

 

“You have to be a warrior,” Mom always said.

 

I kept waiting for the battle to end.

 

She fought on through surgeries,

radiation,

chemotherapy,

more radiation,

more chemo,

countless hormone treatments.

 

When my time comes they will call me proud when I say,

“No, thank you.”

 

I will explain that I’ve been holding this ticket

for decades. My bags are packed.

I’m ready to fly away.

3 thoughts on “72. Fly Away”

  1. Laura Brown said:

    My mother died 23 years ago, very suddenly, when she was 50 and I was 28, and I’m still writing about her.

    Thank you for the gift of these poems. I’m looking forward to meeting you at the Laity Lodge retreat next month (I gather from a Twitter search that you’re going).

  2. Jack Drummond said:

    Megan, I have just read (again) many of the things you wrote before and after your Mom’s passing. They (again) tore my heart out but also let me remember her as the kind and gentle lady that I knew since she came into the Drummond clan. Thanks for preserving your emotions so that others can be reminded (again) about her. Love you. Uncle Jack

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