How is it possible...

How is it possible...

... that my Mum is dead?
I'm sorry, that just can't be.
It just can't, it is horrible.

My Mum is a powerhouse of opinion
a pillar of directness.
But I was there, and she could not face
her own powerlessness.

My Mum is a force of nature,
a sheer clench of will.
But I watched her struggle
up the too long. Long. Winding hill.

My Mum is a whirlwind of fire,
and steel, and strong.
But I saw her gasp with pain
and rage that it was wrong.

My Mum is fierce, and big, and scary
- my under-bed monsters never dare.
But she checked herself into the hospice
where the bed-end notes give the scare.

My Mum can't give me a hug
It would give too much away.
But she held and kissed those nurses.
Right from the very first day.

My Mum hasn't held my hand
since I could cross a street on my own.
But I held hers for four days straight
because those seeds were sown.

My Mum is someone who will defend me
to her last breath.
But I saw them. Rattling, terrifying.
and she couldn't defend me from death.

My Mum is someone who dances
like nobody is watching.
But I saw her die.

My Mum is angry.
And so am I.