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I HOLD YOU, IN THE PALM OF MY HANDS

You held me, in the palm of your hands,
When I was young, red-faced and new.
You held my hand, as up I grew,
Then held me in your heart.

From you I learned a love of words,
Of all things wild and all things free.
To nurture all the gifts we have,
Upon this earth called home.

Four score and more your heart once beat,
As life was lived and loved and lost.
So small and dark, and fair and stark,
Daughter, wife and mother.

No matter angst, or bitterness,
Forgiveness is a family trait.
I loved you all the days we had.
And cared as roles reversed.

I hold you, in the palm of my hands,
Your substance, strength, reduced to ash,
No wicked wit, no wise words left,
Now you are here no more.

REMEMBER

Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death. It is seven years since she passed away after a ten-year battle with breast cancer. Every death anniversary – and I’ve collected a few dead people now – leaves me feeling very melancholy and reflective.

LITTLE SISTER

My little sister passed away in July 2012 after a 29 year battle with mental health issues. She was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder as a young woman and experienced multiple suicide attempts over the years. She developed problem drinking behaviours at age 26 and died age 40 from alcohol related liver failure. She was largely criticised and ostracised by the wider community for “failing” to make the necessary changes to fit in, and to care for herself.