Poems by Mary Virginia Botten

What end to life is this?
Five months without physical contact, without a kiss.
So many promises unable to fulfil,
Summer walks in the garden, a Mother's Day meal.
Promising with every call,
Things would improve, we'd still do them all.
There will be a time when we could take her out,
Half believing, half shadows of doubt.
The decline was unmistakable,
Like watching in slow motion someone fall.
Her withdrawal was evident to see,
Frustrated by her growing dependency.
She tried so hard to hold together,
But this storm intolerable to weather.
"We're all in the same boat,"
One of Mum's favourite quotes.
Yet her boat was sinking fast,
Fear, unsustainable, a knowledge this couldn't last.
Granted a tiny fraction of her final days,
To hold her hand, to fight back tears and pray.
This ending will be so hard to overcome,
The circumstances in which we lost our mum.

With every beginning there has to be an end.
It's simple, so why can't I fathom it, comprehend?
No words can describe how much you are missed.
They are not in the dictionary; they simply don't exist.
Every day without you is as difficult as the last.
In my head I am shouting, "Move on, stop living in the past."
The constant ticking of the clock as time moves by,
We don't stand still in time, you and I.
Even with that knowledge, I still stumble through,
Knowing this would happen, without any doubt I knew.
I struggle with the concept you are no longer here.
After witnessing your final days, death holds a certain fear.
I know you will be happy; it's what you wanted most,
To free yourself from a failing body, setting free its shackled host.

Moving together, we pass through time,
Step by step, no reason nor rhyme.
Pondering on our existence here,
For nothing is certain, nothing is clear.

There are cracks in our foundations, cracks in our base,
This eroding, fragile world in which we are placed.
Immeasurable repairs are needed to restore
Our amazing earth that we should adore.

I feel we are breaking in every which way,
Moral fibres stretched thin and beginning to fray.
We have the gift of a life, a planet too,
Treasured by many but sadly too few.