Departure
Mother and son
're lying in the large bed
illness and handicap,
peacefully near each other
With wide wings of the nose
Marian eagerly sucks
the lifesaving oxygen.
Behind her eyes compressing
continuously the always returning
pangs of death.
Marian and Steven,
a mother and her child,
two imperfect bodies,
one ravaged by illness
the other since years
cramped in mental weakness.
The glance of the mother catches
the glance of her child now.
Tenderness cuts out anxiety
a haze of sweetness and motherliness
glides towards him,
she covers his eyes
with her searching glance,
pushes in the roots
of his clear, simple soul.
Steven, she says,
the fight is almost over.
I wanted to stay here
as long as possible because of you,
All those sick years
you were the kernel of my existence.
I would take care about you
as long as possible.
Even when my strengths weakened,
just my eyes could guard and protect you,
I stayed with you,
giving directions to others
my life was consecrated to you, my boy.
Steven hears the timbre of tones,
sucks the maternal warmth to the inside,
doesn't understand
the meaning of sounds,
his smile just become larger and deeper.
Soon I'll be dead, my boy,
you were always my highest good.
Farewell, be well till later
sometime up here.
And Steven answers,
not with the language of the mouth, b
ut with heart to heart language w
hich doesn't need words.
Mammy, he says tenderly
I want to thank you for so much
for the richness of your nature,
for the many gifts of you.
Your strength and tenderness
patience and veracity
your care, your love,
attention and courage.
Possibly I even forget your name,
but your radiation and warmth
are chiselled in my heart,
you always stay with me.
From the unwritten diary of Marian, Friday 3 February 1995. Marian
left to the hospital at 4 February 1995. She went in coma at 7 February, and
died Thursday 9 February 1995.
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