Conversations I Will Never Get to Have with Mom
by Thomas Beckwith
One day the calls stopped, and there was just dead silence.
Something I never dreamed of at almost twenty-five.
I just knew she was going to live for a long time,
maybe well into her eighties.
I thought she had more sunrises and sunsets to see,
a lot more walks on the beach, and many more flowers
to watch bloom.
Fifteen years, five thousand and eighty-five days, and counting
has been a long time not to talk to someone.
One day the calls stopped, and there was just dead silence.
The beeping sound of the ventilator still haunts me.
A few months after she died, I got a tattoo that says, “Never Forget.”
A reminder that she is always with me,
but the pain is worse than any bee sting will ever be.
There is just hurt and silence, and many who have turned their back on me.
There is a void that can never be filled; I tried everything from
talking to people that I thought loved me.
Love is as inconsistent as abnormal rhythms on an EKG Machine.
Not much has changed since I was thirteen,
I still suffer from depression.
The only difference now is I am taking medication.
I moved to Minnesota after graduate school for work.
Then a few months later I lost my hero, too.
I thought that people really liked me, but I quickly learned
that I was nothing more than a charity case
because I was the darker brother who was only being used
for my skin color in the workplace.
I found that out the hard way, and at the snap of their fingers
I no longer had a job in education; it was like a bad magic trick.
I spent a few months working in the financial world, but it just wasn’t me.
I left a relationship and came back home.
The only problem was you were not here to welcome me back.
Just dead silence, sunrises, and sunsets.
There was even a new addition to the family since you have been gone.
My nephew; I have been back living in the state for most of his life.
He is intelligent and has a calming spirit,
and likes to play sports, mainly basketball and soccer.
He looks just like “C,” but his complexion is like “E.”
The little girl is now a budding young woman; she turned sixteen,
a few days after what would have been your seventieth birthday.
She is tall, beautiful, and a rising volleyball star.
She is well on her way to being a superstar in college.
I think she could be a model if she wanted to be.
Not much has changed with her; she still is shy and a little moody.
“C” is in the Army. He just recently moved to Texas.
Last year, I even reconnected with some of dad’s family.
I even have a little stability, but I do not know how much longer.
I was always a dreamer to a fault, with so many emotions
bottled up, and I am at the crossroads.
Some even say my pain is self-inflicted, and I am great at self-sabotaging.
I wish I could pick up the phone and talk.
I forget to share each year I get older,
I look more like a few of your brothers.
Some even say my pain is self-inflicted, and I am great at self-sabotaging.
There is a void that can never be filled; I tried everything from
talking to people who I thought loved me.
I even have a little stability, but I do not know how much longer.
The beeping sound of the ventilator still haunts me.
Fifteen years, five thousand and eighty-five days, and counting
has been a long time not to talk to someone.
Love is as inconsistent as abnormal rhythms on an EKG Machine.
One last thing to share is that I recently went skydiving.
***
Thomas Beckwith is an Assistant Director for the University of Florida’s Office of Academic Support, where he provides support to students including academic coaching, leadership development, and holistic success planning. He also enjoys writing in his authentic voice, finding it to be a therapeutic way to process experiences and overcome past trauma.
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