They

Is it only I who continues to grieve and cry,
While others choose not to remember as days go by?

Or is it because it’s painful to remember the dead?
An act many share, but as a bereaved mother, I dread.

When they fail to mention her, I feel sad and alone,
Become very distressed and withdrawn.

Perhaps they think they’re protecting me from sorrow,
And preparing me for a better tomorrow.

They’re petrified when I mention her name,
Their faces change color and I’m to blame.

They also don’t want to hear what I want to say,
Totally oblivious to the price, I then have to pay.

I know they have every right to move on -
To them, many years passed since she’d gone.

But if they care, they should understand
That all fingers aren’t alike in one’s hand.

Some bereaved choose to remember, others to forget.
As for me, I like to talk about her at every chance I get.

As a mother, I want to keep my daughter alive.
Her body is gone, but her memory should survive.

I will always shed tears for her and mourn,
And celebrate her life and the day she was born.

I wish that they would at least comprehend
That nothing can ever bring my grief to an end.

Randah R. Hamadeh, 2011, Copyright©
Written in loving memory of my daughter
Samar Ahmed Al Ansari (4/4/1988-4/9/2006)
(www.samaralansari.com)