Categories The Day My Mother Died ... Actually Sixteen Post author By Things That Never Made It Into Print Post date November 29, 2014 No Comments on Actually Sixteen Less than a week after my mother’s death, a friend of mine, Linda, whose father was British and mother, Irish – Catholic – stayed with me and documented the aftermath of death. Just found this while opening doors to the past. Share this:LinkedInTwitterFacebookLike Loading... Tags adolescence, Death, mourning, photographs, the past By Things That Never Made It Into Print Keep it simple ... Radical ... Writer, Artist, Dancer, Musician, Chicago Betty View Archive → ← Persephone: The Eye and Seeds of a Pomegranate → Aging Naturally 0 replies on “Actually Sixteen” My love she lives so close to me, Only a universe away. We both live lives we love yet hate But don’t have the nerve to say Goodbye to the past, hello to the now No way to shed the tears. So much to live for, think of the kids Who get over larger fears. Why can’t we admit we’ve lost, Then start life anew? Why is the chance so hard to take, Why can’t I marry you? Because we’ve grown accustomed To the routine of rotten ways: Each of them so different, Trapped now so many days. So many nights “together” While really so alone. All who know detest this It chills them to the bone. I ask, I beg, I plea now Take this gentle hand, Remind me what it feels like To be an honest man, To quit living lies as if noble To finally take a stand. Thank you. Leave a Reply Cancel replyYou must be logged in to post a comment.