The Loss of my Mother

I've had yet to share my poetry (of any type) on my blog, but I decided that it was time. I shared this particular piece back in April on the 3 year anniversary of my Mom's death. It was only fitting to do so. 

My Mom fought cancer for nearly a decade and kicked ass doing so, but fighting meant chemo and radiation. If you know anything about cancer treatment then you know that it's extremely detrimental to the body, more specifically the immune system. 

She was a hard headed, self-proclaimed "bitch", who loved her family with everything she had and tried to give her children the world...even if it meant she went without. She was the backbone of our family and it fell apart when she died.

She was my best-friend and the person I called several times a day to get advice about motherhood, vent to when I felt like nobody else would understand, and cry to when my heart was broken. When my first marriage was ending, my mother told me that I had too big of a heart to give up on love. She assured me that love would come around when I least expected it. 

When Sean came into my life she knew before I told her that I had fallen for him. She knew that the love I felt for him was rare and she warned me not to let him fall in love with me. She was afraid that I wasn't ready...but love had happened and she knew it. 

He was the first guy that I have ever seen her accept 100% as good enough to be my husband. She adored him and when I last saw her she told me to "Thank Sean for me..for loving you...I know I can go home without worrying about you being taken care of. Never let him go and when marriage gets hard fight like hell to hold onto it." 

My Mom may have not been my mother by blood but she was my grandmother by blood. If you've read my previous blogs, then you know I've mentioned that I was adopted by my grandparents. I have only recently started working on a relationship with my biological mother and I couldn't be more thankful. If my Mom wouldn't have taught me forgiveness and understanding..then I am not sure I would have ever been ready to take this step with my biological mother. 

I am grateful now to say I have two moms. If I count the other women in my life such as my ex-step mother, Robyn or my mother-in-law, Barb then I can honestly say I have more moms than most. None of them are alike, none of them can replace the mother that I lost when Dixie left this world, but they all hold a very dear place in my heart and I love them tremendously.

In the last three years I have slowly accepted that my Mom is no longer here but I have plenty of moments where I feel her presence..and her absence. Every time I hear You Are My Sunshine I am reduced to tears. As I sit here writing I have that song playing in the background and I am looking at my computer screen through a veil of tears. That was our song...I have only recently stopped picking up the phone to call her.

I think what inspired this blog the most was when I was unpacking a box last night. It was items that I had given my Mom when she was in the hospital. My aunt Roxie had been sure that those items made it back to me. One item in particular nearly broke my heart when I held it. It's a large purple butterfly that you can hang on the wall. My parents have always called me butterfly because my Daddy gave me that nickname when I was three years old. 

Anyway, I was living in Florida when my Mom was sick and had traveled back home to Kentucky to see her...to..say goodbye. I felt awful the day before I had to leave because I knew that I would most likely never see her alive again. I went to the gift shop and bought that purple butterfly and put it in her room. I told her that even if I wasn't physically there I was always with her and that butterfly was to remind her of that. 

When I held that butterfly last night, I cried for a few minutes and it felt I was mourning her death all over again. I have a few other pieces that were sent to her funeral specifically for me. Two beautiful white angels that I hold dear because of my best friends who sent them. That box was hard for me to go through last night but it was a little bit easier than when I packed it up a month ago. 

It left me feeling raw with emotion and today I decided to get up and write...I have to write to get it out because I've found that writing is the only way I allow myself to truly deal with her death. This brings me to the poem...

The back story on this poem is that I wrote it for a creative writing course in college. I have had a very difficult time dealing with my Mom's death and more often than not I tend to downplay my emotions until they fester inside and I, more or less, explode into a blubbering mess of tears. 

We were asked to write a poem in a specific format and I chose to write an elegy. My mood that day was bitter to the point that I could nearly taste it rising like bile in the back of my throat. The only way to deal with that bitterness was to expel it from myself in the form of writing.

Here's the poem: (Disclaimer-This is my work and I don't mind it being quoted but please do not do so without my permission.) 

   

The End (Elegy)
                                     
Heads were bowed in contemplative unison as we awaited for the formalities to end.
Staggered breathing could be heard if one paid attention,
But most were lost within their own reflections of their last moments with her. 

Moments that would be forever encapsulated in our hearts, as we held steadfast to the hope that she would some how awaken; a ridiculous notion for the dead cannot be shaken.
The spirit that had tethered her to this world had long abandoned the fragile shell that we now gazed upon.
One by one, we began to say our final good bye, though mere words seemed to desensitize everything we felt in those life-altering seconds.
A hushed whisper rumbled through our ears as we made our approach to the cold, metallic tomb in which she lay.
Mouth drawn in a tight line and hands clasped stiffly across her torso, the image was imposed upon us as it etched itself into our memories.
We tried to catalog it with the other undesirables that could not be unseen; but it was at the forefront of our sorrow.
In the air hung a smell that only funeral flowers could generate. The scent burned our throats and had the ability to conjure up painful images of those who we wished only to commemorate.
A sickeningly, sweet fragrance laced with heartache and regret, thick enough that it could drowned anyone who allowed it.
Acidic tears stung our cheeks and our knees began to buckle beneath the weight of the sorrow. We supported one another in this  moment because we felt camaraderie in our pain.
Clinging to the cold edge of the box in which she lay, we whispered words of comfort and regret that fell on deaf ears to our dismay.
As morning shifted to afternoon, we walked across soft, moist earth to her final resting place.
The minutes ticked by at a quickened pace, that blurred past as the midday sun cast dark shadows over every mourners’ face.
A prayer was spoken in a voice twisted by despair, but that pivotal moment did not fully register until the creaking of the ropes resounded around us. Slowly she sank into the cold ground, forever hidden from our sights except for when we allowed our hearts to reminisce. © 2014 Kimberly Kasper

Adoption and Heartache

I don't usually watch the morning talk show THE VIEW, but today I did...and I'm glad but also saddened. The story I've linked is one that I find absolutely mind blowing.


A nine year old little girl was adopted at the age of one because she had been abandoned. The whereabouts of her bio-mother are not mentioned, but her father was incarcerated for the majority of her life. She was adopted by a family that raised her until she was 9.

Her father had initially lost his rights because of a law that says if someone is incarcerated for 10 years or more, then that individual loses rights. Her father had received a sentence of 15 years for dealing in guns and drugs. He was able to get his sentence reduced and decided that he would fight to get his daughter back.

While that sounds commendable...rehabilitated ex-felon turned father of the year...the way the state went about returning his rights was completely wrong. They (the state) took the girl as she exited the bus from school and she hasn't seen her adoptive family since. That was 6 months ago.

Adoption is a huge topic to me because I was adopted by my grandparents on my biological father's side. The reason is not important, the fact that I was adopted is the focal point of this blog. I was adopted and though I often wonder what my life would've been like with my biological parents, I cannot dismiss that I had a pretty good childhood with my adoptive parents. They are the only parents that I've ever considered Mom and Dad.

It's only recently that I have begun building a relationship with my biological mother and I'm extremely thankful that we've both reached a point in our life where we are ready to embark on this journey together.

Being adopted was my norm and I cannot imagine what this little girl is going through. If someone would've ripped my away from the only family I had known practically since birth, it would have devastated me.

Think about it. One day 9 year old you gets up and has a normal morning getting ready for school. You say goodbye to your parents as you get on the bus. You go about your normal routine at school, hang out with your friends, roll your eyes when your teacher attempts to make a joke that is obviously corny. You get restless when you know school is about to let out and it's almost time to go home. The bus pulls up at your stop, the same bus that you boarded hours prior, and to your surprise you see cars you don't recognize parked in the driveway of your home. As you exit the bus you see your mother and father run out of the front door toward you, but they are stopped short by a man in a business suit as a woman approaches you. You don't really hear what she's saying but you can tell by her facial expression she's attempting to reassure you that everything is okay. You move toward your parents but the man in the suit blocks you from doing so. Tears begin to spill down your cheeks and you cry out as you begin calling for you mother...the lady, the one with the kind face and hollow reassurances leads you toward one of the cars you don't recognize in the driveway. You look over your shoulder to see your mother fall to her knees as her heart literally breaks before your eyes. The woman continues to lead you away, into the car..she puts the seat belt around you as you tremble and attempt to catch your breath. The door of the car shuts and you're alone for a moment. You try to open the door but the child safety lock prevents you from doing so. Absolute panic grasps your 9 year old self and all you can do is look out the window of the car you don't recognize...and cry.

I can only imagine that this is very similar to what Sonya went through. The system has failed her and I pray that her parents and the legal team they've hired can find a way to get her back. I have no qualms about her biological father being in her life, but this was NOT the way this situation should have been handled. If he wanted to do what was right by his daughter, he should've left her with her adoptive family and slowly integrated himself back into her life.

Ripping a 9 year old child away from the only family she has ever known, just because you feel like playing house after being incarcerated for your bad decisions is NOT the way you become a parent.

I can only hope that her biological father learned from his mistakes and truly is a good father to her. I hope that her adoptive family is able to be a part of her life and that at some point both parental parties can become a cohesive unit. And most importantly, I hope that Sonya is able to recover from the trauma she has endured through this experience and that all those who love her will do everything they can to ensure she overcomes any problems that this has/will cause her. 

~Kim