Happy Birthday Mom.

Oh, the grief of loss. Ugh.

You died on May 10, 2026. Mother’s Day.

When I say I miss you, it sounds so cliche. But…I don’t know what else to say.

by Lawain McNeil

I think my mom is dying

she shuffles across the kitchen

with stooped back her head is parallel with the floor

there’s a thousand yard gaze on her face

wishing that things were what they used to be

the psalmist was right that our day

come to an end like a sigh—

days of toil and trouble

I’m breathing different here as if there is a lack of oxygen

things of the past flash by as I can’t get my footing—

why can’t things stop for just a second

as we go barreling towards the end.

-March 2026

The loved ones we call the dead

depart from us and for a while are absent. And then as if

called back by our love, they come

near us again. They enter our dreams.

We feel they have been near us

when we have not thought of them.

They are simply here, simply waiting

while we are distracted among

our obligations. At last

it comes to us: They live now

in the permanent world.

We are the absent ones.