SHE Spoke to Me
It came to me through the language we share with the mother - a knowing without words, spoken as if from the wind. She spoke to me of death.
Sitting with deep sorrow as witness to her slow and painful death; praying into the damp soil of her skin; asking forgiveness for my complacency; feeling the profoundness of her grief; she spoke to me and said, "no". She said, "No. It is not my death I grieve." And I saw that as we cry for her, she cries for us. I feel her grief. It lives in my body - deep and profound. It isn't for herself. Hers is the grief of a mother witnessing her children die.
She told me in the language she speaks to her daughters. To our bodies. This voice, so subtle. She has been whispering to me my whole life. And now I ask that we hear her call, not to save her, but to save ourselves.