Blood Mother

In January 2019, my mother fell on the ice. She called me and my dad and said she needed to go to the emergency room; several hours later, the ER doctor informed us she had a minor concussion and would be fine in a few days.

That was over two and a half years ago.

On the surface, my mother is a functional human being. But many of the things that she loves are inaccessible to her now. She likes people: loud noises, overlapping conversations, and crowded places are a no-go with her head injury. She likes to garden: sunlight makes her head hurt. She likes to travel: the vibration of tires on the road is too much.

Nothing in our world is the same.

I am a writer, so I cope with things by writing. It has taken me two and a half years to be able to write about that night or the subsequent nights. While I mostly likely had post-traumatic stress disorder before her fall, the events of that night confirmed that diagnosis.

I hope for one thing from these poems:

treat everyone-including yourself-with kindness.

There is enough harshness in the world without adding to it.

With love,

Annie