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My son...



The pain,

all mother's share.

The hurting of a child

we cannot control,

nor ease with soothing hand,

nor words-

tho we try.



A heart shattered

and abandoned,

like the child they share.

She's left and gone,

living in her sins,

living her lies

and warming beds of other's

with her coldness.



...his baby girl cries,

wiping away, with tiny hand,

her daddy's tears.



And what can I offer,

but my love

and my shoulders

and my ears,

which ache from hearing

the loss in his voice.



He's grieving her,

missing her,

still wanting her

(or more, what they had)

yet knows what he must do,

if only for his little daughter's sake.



And the baby-

just two years old,

now staying with me,

so daddy's pain won't upset her

or confuse her even more,

no longer even cares

to look at pictures of 'her.'

'No!' she yells,

and turns them over,

out of sight.

Her way of saying,

'She left me and my daddy,

she left us. No want to see her!'



I lie next to her each night,

for she'll have it no other way,

nor would I even think

to let her lie there alone

with the thoughts

running through her head.

Even on nights she would let me leave the room,

I turn back and return,

for I know the nightly ritual now

and I can't bear to leave here there

alone with her mind.



She 'worries' her upper lip,

stares into space,

fingers twirling her curls,

my hair and fidgeting

with the ears of her Pooh bear,

having conversations of baby babble,

shrugging her small shoulders

and saying in her toddler voice,

'I dunno.'

Like she too, is trying to make sense

of what is going on.



My tears fall, my heart breaks

and I softly tell her,

rubbing her cheek with my hand,

that she herself pulled closer-

I know sweetheart. Its okay.

Daddy loves you, Grammy loves you,

Grampy loves you,

everyone loves you Honey.

I'm right here, baby girl.

Its allright.

Shhhhhhh...



...and another piece of me breaks

and dies inside

as I try to quell this utter rage

and hatred I feel

towards the cause of their pain.



My son and I sit,

hours talking, into the night,

whether here, or on the phone.

I tell him, she'll do it again,

she has before,

too many times to mention.

I'm blunt in my words,

trying to make him think with his head

and not his aching heart.



Slowly, he begins to know,

begins to understand,

begins to think clearer,

begins to even eat again

as each day and long night passes.

He takes that first step,

towards the healing,

her tiny hand in his,

and I am there-

to catch them,

should they falter.



Still, I pray with all my might,

all my faith

that he doesn't listen to her lies again,

doesn't fall,

trapped once more

in this deceitful web she weaves.

For I know if he should,

we will be here,

at this place

once more,

not too far down in time,

and he will be destroyed.



10-01-04