I'm knitting a blanket for my daughter
it will be 9" x 7" x 4.5"
fitting snugly around her.
No, she is not a tiny little girl
out of a fairy tale
although her birth made my life so magical
and brought dreams back into my soul.
It's tiny 3-dimensional blanket
to cover the tiny golden box
that today holds her combusted remains.
Cremation
Maybe among them there might be residues
of previous cremations,
the pulverized cardboard,
the wrapping material around her body.
Are the bodies wrapped so the handlers
don't have to see their faces?
Combustion
It's all a transformation of matter with heat.
Some of her transformed cells
remained in the burning chamber
and will be mixed with other remains.
Some particles floated in the air
and mixed with the dust
that will be swiped away
when the janitor comes buy
during the normal cleaning routine
Some climbed through
the crematorium chimney,
as gases that were devoid of smell
and then released into the atmosphere
Most of it will remain
in this tiny golden box
that I'll wrap in this tiny blanket
knitted in her favorite color.
Was it the first favorite color?
Or the third...
I can't remember the order
of her favorites anymore.
She stopped telling me that
long before her death.
I think of the all these particles
if they are still parts of her, if they hold
anything of what made her
so unique and so loved.
Are they going to spread her beauty
and greatness everywhere they land?
Can souls be rubbed off into others?
What will be wrapped in this tiny blanket
is just a heavy transformed
incomplete portion
of what my daughter once was
mixed with other things
that weren't hers.
My beautiful, precious daughter.
She now cannot refuse my hugs.
I can cradle this little box
for as long as I want.
She stays still all the time
compliant to whatever rules
we impose upon her.
No more locked doors.
No more defiance.
Never late for school again.
never dragging us down.
No more drama.
No more stress.
No more pain.
No more tears in her eyes
No more broken hearts for her.
nothing,
no more!
never again,,,
Monday, January 29, 2018
Sunday, January 21, 2018
Crime scene investigation
She had lost her son twice. And twice she had been saved by her daughter.
First when he left, at 15, with his heart bitter with resentment that he never explained.
She cried everyday, all day long. Her husband, out of pity on her misery, suggested them to have a child.
The daughter born 9 months later saved her. It was a new beginning, her daughter was more than perfect. She was a dream fulfilled.
The second time she lost her son was when he died, at 25 suffocated in his desperation and hopelessness.
Her soul cried deep inside with an infinite sorrow. Again her daughter saved her, because if wasn't for her, she wouldn't continue alive.
Now, at 15, her daughter died. She didn't have enough tears to cry anymore. A furious rage started eating her entrails, poisoning her blood, crunching her heart: "I miss you so much that my heart aches to pump and my blood crawls slowly through my veins".
During the memorial mass, while the priest was explaining about Lazarus and how we are all going to assume a celestial body at the end of times, she could only stare at the box with her daughter's ashes. She remembered how heavy was her lifeless body when she found her and tried to revive her with CPR and now it was a light bunch of ashes in a box. She thought of all the atoms that made her daughter's body, all the fusions and collisions that had happened in billions of years in the forge of the stars that were now gone and that somehow got together to form such a beautiful girl that had brought so much happiness and hope to her in he short life. She reflected on how all these atoms were constantly changing, transforming, combining, reacting as her daughter grew. In how they were still being transformed, by the fire of the cremation, but they were all there in one way or another, still part of this universe. All that we are is a bunch of atoms combined, reacting and transforming one another. The dust of the stars. Maybe that's the celestial body mentioned by the ancient people. We are made of stardust and to the stars we return as dust.
This idea was at the same time tragic and wonderful, but neither that, nor the Lazarus story could bring her any comfort.
First when he left, at 15, with his heart bitter with resentment that he never explained.
She cried everyday, all day long. Her husband, out of pity on her misery, suggested them to have a child.
The daughter born 9 months later saved her. It was a new beginning, her daughter was more than perfect. She was a dream fulfilled.
The second time she lost her son was when he died, at 25 suffocated in his desperation and hopelessness.
Her soul cried deep inside with an infinite sorrow. Again her daughter saved her, because if wasn't for her, she wouldn't continue alive.
Now, at 15, her daughter died. She didn't have enough tears to cry anymore. A furious rage started eating her entrails, poisoning her blood, crunching her heart: "I miss you so much that my heart aches to pump and my blood crawls slowly through my veins".
During the memorial mass, while the priest was explaining about Lazarus and how we are all going to assume a celestial body at the end of times, she could only stare at the box with her daughter's ashes. She remembered how heavy was her lifeless body when she found her and tried to revive her with CPR and now it was a light bunch of ashes in a box. She thought of all the atoms that made her daughter's body, all the fusions and collisions that had happened in billions of years in the forge of the stars that were now gone and that somehow got together to form such a beautiful girl that had brought so much happiness and hope to her in he short life. She reflected on how all these atoms were constantly changing, transforming, combining, reacting as her daughter grew. In how they were still being transformed, by the fire of the cremation, but they were all there in one way or another, still part of this universe. All that we are is a bunch of atoms combined, reacting and transforming one another. The dust of the stars. Maybe that's the celestial body mentioned by the ancient people. We are made of stardust and to the stars we return as dust.
This idea was at the same time tragic and wonderful, but neither that, nor the Lazarus story could bring her any comfort.
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