It is the eve of Canada’s one hundred and fifty-first anniversary. During this year just past, our writer’s group completed a group project titled, Our Canadian Journey. In memory of my own grandparents I dedicate my piece to all parents who slipped away before their time, as well as to those who remained behind to raise the children; alone; who remarried sometimes for love but often simply to keep family and home together.
By reason of need, for love
My hair lay
heavy and tangled
on my pillow
they cut it when the fever came
and the coughing wouldn’t stop
cut it and laid it in a box
said it’s so thick and beautiful
she will use it one day
to weave flowers
and wreaths
it lies there still
but you have no time
for weaving flowers
do you
Sister, you sit with such dignity
at our husband’s side
you’ve earned that right
I know this —
but so did I!
did you always love him?
you sat on his knee
before our wedding
so happy
so young
could it be that you
loved him even then?
Sister, you’re a good wife
a good mother
gratitude
warms my heart
like a blanket
Child, dying is a sacred event
dying is all consuming
I couldn’t prepare you
to mother your siblings
though I know you tried
you were only eleven
in 1918
so scared
so brave
so relieved when
my sister took my place
at the table
in the home
Child, it was spanish flu
that took me away
tell the little ones
that I wanted to
but I couldn’t stay
Sister, you wash my hair
lay it out to dry
in the breeze
in the sunshine
your gentle fingers braid it and
fasten a comb in its softness
before you
pack it in the box
back on the uppermost shelf
of your bedroom closet
packed
but never forgotten
like a hitchhiker clinging to
the hem of your spirit
Sister, I understand
have always understood
why you keep it
I am birth mother to
your eldest six children
Husband, do you love her?
did you marry my sister
because you loved her?
or did you do it for the little ones?
Jacob was only seven
days old when I was called
my time with him
so short
see how our family has grown
you have thirteen children now
do you love them all the same
each one as much as the others?
Sister, we are
our first mother
and our second mother
as you taught them
that is what they call us
the first is memory
a story
the second kisses tears
is silent strength
is gentle heart
the names of their spouses
roll sweetly from your lips
you celebrate victories
remember birthdays
and whisper their names
in your prayers
Sister, you are a gift
I can never repay
would I
if I could
have done as well?