The Black Dog

The sun is rising

And yet it’s dark

The birds are singing

And still it’s stark

The sky is grey

When it should be blue

l feel I should be happy

But no, I’m like old glue

Yet life should be joyful

I gave so much

Yet the vacuum is imposing

I am my own crutch

The black dog is relentless

So insistent to be pattered

Another day has gone

It’s like it never mattered

(Anonymous Poet)


The thing about parenting is that it is no longer about you. If is no longer about me. Or I. It is about someone else. Someone you may have given birth to, I’ve given birth to, I’ve raised and am responsible to see through to an adult.

My heart rejoiced with the birth of my daughter. I gave her a Rose for her middle name so she would have something she could keep from her mother her whole life. A rose that would never die.

And when your child breaks your heart, all you can do is focus on your child. It is not about you. It is not about me.

How ironic that it would be that my best plans came to naught. That my beautiful daughter who is perfect in every way insists that she is my son. How to cope with knowing that my beautiful Rose is still my child, but no longer my daughter? I don’t know how to cope with it. I don’t know how to parent it.

All I know is that, it’s not about me. And yet, even though knowing this, my heart is still utterly broken.

Where Are You?

I reach my hand to touch your face

And find your face not there

I long to trace your fingertips –

Your hands are nowhere near

I wish to look into your eyes

And meet your soul with mine

Your image haunts my every dream!

I want to shout and scream

Where are you, in this world?

All I have are thoughts

And sweet reminders of the times

We touched and loved and kissed

I hunger now for you, my love

The memories have to fill

That aching void that never goes

It stays with me through all.