Inherited Grief

Sometimes I wonder who my mother was before tragedy befell her.
I get so angry at Nana and Nani.
Why did Nani neglect her health?
Why did Nana have to smoke himself into cancer and death?

She needed them the most and they left her forever.

I feel she did not just bury her parents,
she also buried a part of herself into the 

ground.

She was never allowed to grieve,

so it just became part of her.

Unsaid, untold. But, just 

                             there.   

I know she tried to shield me from feeling ^it, but how did I keep feeling ^it more? 

        And I have felt that grief so much, ^it is a part of me.

A  h o l l o w  wholesomeness?

Who am I to say who is whole and who isn’t?

Because I myself am so 

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that I often pick up my own p-i-e-c-e-s.

But I cannot help but think                                                                                                      

that in spite of her unwavering self,

her giving and courageous self,

her optimistic and jovial self,

I can’t help but yearn for that 

little 

missing 

piece 

of hers.       

                                                       That little piece that is buried somewhere 

deep.

Maybe one day I will                     reach out,

and it won’t be in vain.

And she will let me see that part of her.

Maybe we will 

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                       n

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                       h

                                                                                        it together.

Maybe then, she will feel more whole.                      Maybe then, I too will feel more complete.

And we will no longer be

partners in pain.