A Mother’s Prayer

I’m not ready, he says.

Here, I am safe. And whole.

But she asked for him.

And he went.

Here I am now, confused. Bewildered.

What’s the point and who am I, he ponders to himself, and to no one.

And she called out his name.

And he knew.

I’m here to serve, to love, to be.

But my soul is burdened with things I cannot seem to lay down.

I don’t want to be here anymore.

And she called out his name.

And he rested.

Now what?

I’ve hoped and healed and harnessed strength to move forward.

I’ve climbed out of places that swallowed me.

Still, I’m empty.

And she called out his name.

And he moved.

Motions, pantomimes, plays and strategies.

It's all just acting. It’s all a farce. I will not continue this nonsense.

And she called out his name.

And he turned his back.

I will find meaning without you.

I will be heard, and understood, and seen, and known.

I will not let your smallness make me small.

And she called out his name.

And he walked away.

Sadness, confusion, directionless attempts at filling the empty.

Broken, fractured, lonely, afraid.

And she called out his name.

And he answered.

I’m here now.

I understand.

And she continues to call out his name.

Until the end of time, she will.