Where Do Mothers Go?

I want to talk about some things going on in our world these days, but let me start with this. It’s a poem I wrote as I was contemplating the approach of the first Mothers Day without my Mom, who passed away on the last day of that terrible year 2020.

WHERE DO MOTHERS GO?

Where do mothers go?
When we need them still

Long ago, they wiped our noses and filled our bellies
It meant the world to us
That small world
Which grew even faster than we did
Under their watchful care

Commentary and band-aids
Through all we encountered
Sidewalk scrapes and motorcycle wounds
Undeserved failures and pitches we never swung at
Friends in the neighborhood and monsters in the closet

Where do mothers go?
When the need is yet unmet
Children grow into adults, but still there must be someone
To preside over family gatherings
To show our children the fount of our being
The full scope of our nature
To enjoy with us the fruit we gathered
From the fields the years planted
And impart to us again the wisdom which now we have eyes to see

The past replays in my mind as a witness
A balm for every sorrow
Always someone to dry my eyes
But these tears are on the inside, where no one can reach them

Early on a Winter day
She drew a final breath and surrendered to the morning

Why do mothers go?
When now we need them so
The days are bleeding into years, I feel it
My question will endure as memories fade
Resisting the dissolution of bodily powers
To question is to hope
Mercy tarries, but never fails
Redemption is not diverted from its long march

There came an answer whispered in the morning
"The righteous go to their reward"

A place more real than all that we've ever seen
But our trust is swayed because we don't know the color of the walls
Or the view from the windows there
Whether their gaze is employed like ours
Or can they see the tears on the inside of us?
Maybe even reach them

Idle speculation has its place
Sentimental wishes carry their own comfort
But there is One there, I know
To whom the boundary between worlds is but a vapor
Who sees and touches all

Where do mothers go
When we need them most?
In the morning light
I think I know