Here it goes....
When I was younger, Mommy,
I would always wish it was him instead of you.
But now I see, Mommy
It would have been more painful for you
Then your cancer ever could have been.
Because you loved him, Mommy.
He made you happy.
You knew you could have done better by far,
But you didn't want better.
Because better didn't include him.
You had a disease, Mommy.
And I don't mean the cancer.
Loving him was problem, Mommy.
And I always carried the cure.
At the tender age of three,
The cure came to me, Mommy.
And ever since that day
I was faced with a question:
Should I fix you?
I wanted too, I really did.
But I couldn't.
Even though it would have made me happy, Mommy
My happiness would have been shallow
Like the kiddie pool I was sized for at the time.
The cure would have hurt you, Mommy.
The sight of your tear streaked face
Would have instantly evaporated my selfish joy.
I want to hate him, Mommy.
But I can't.
Because of the gravity defying curve
To your lips each time you saw him.
So now I hate myself, Mommy.
I should have fixed you.
I should have been brave enough to hurt you.
Because it would have gotten better.
You would have become a stronger person, Mommy.
The sun would have found a way
To gleam through the clouds.
You could have done better.
And I could have helped you get there.
I failed you, Mommy.
I kept you weak.
I'm sorry.
Will you forgive me, Mommy?
All the way from Heaven?
