Dreading Mother's Day

By
Karen Sypher
Mom's Name
Karen Sypher and Kelly Burton

I'm writing this story for myself and my grandchildren. This Mother's Day is going to prove to be very difficult for us. It will be my first Mother's Day without my son or my daughter. Geoffrey died of a heroin overdose on Dec. 23, 2016, and Kelly spiraled so badly out of control when her brother died, that she has been living on the streets for the past five months, addicted to heroin. How does this happen? I have no answers for that. They were two normal young adults... Geoffrey was married with a great job and Kelly was a realtor with 3 kids..... but heroin kidnapped them both. All of the begging, pleading, and bargaining with the disease went on deaf ears.  I pray that Kelly can beat the monster of a disease... she has so many people praying for her.  

One of her daughters wrote her this poem. She is only 13... I think it says it all. 

Dear Mom  
          
I want a future with you in it,
I want you to see my kids one day.
I want to see you every Christmas,
But I can only pray.

I can't convince you,
Or motivate you,
I sit here and watch.
I watch you try and try
while I watch the clock.

I look into your eyes,
And I see my mom.
But not the mom that once was there,
The one that's almost gone.

I can't help but worry,
I try to push it back.
I concentrate on other things,
But it always finds a crack.

I do believe you can get better,
I hope and hope and hope.
I pray and pray and pray to god,
That you can climb the slope.

I lay awake at night
Wondering where you are,
Wondering if you're ok,
Wondering if you're far.

I want you,
to be cured of this disease,
I really want to help.
But my hands are tied, so there I cry
Hoping for your health.

I sing my words, hoping they stop you,
Knowing that they won't.
All I want is for the words to help you,
But everyone knows they don't.

I can see you trying to break its grip,
And we all know what grip it is.
The word I hate
More than words can explain
The word, Addiction.

I think about how much I love you,
And again I count the tocks.
But what an awful feeling it truly is
To sit and watch the clock.

- Natalie