Remembering my mama on the eighth anniversary of her passing. Sharing something I wrote for her after she died. RIP, sweet mama. I miss you now like I missed you then.
For Mama (2003)
Hey, now, how’s the air up there?
Can you see me, are you breathing better?
Can you see the way that I forget
I can’t call you like I always did?
That I started saying prayers again
Like there’s a way that you might hear me then?
And did you see the new tattoo I got?
It’s black, I know you’d hate it, but –
The words remind me of a song
You used to sing when I was gone.
And hey now, are you running strong?
Are you feeling better, being gone?
Did the wings they gave you take it all –
what made you sad here for so long?
And hey now, yeah, I got your ring.
I thought it’d be too big for me.
But I’ve grown up so quickly, mom.
I moved away, I got that job.
But those groups they said would pull me through–
I tried them for a week or two.
I sat in circles, cleared my head.
I realized twice that you were dead.
There are things I wish that I had kept,
like the only book you ever read
About a man who got smart, then dumb again,
Well I think I’m turning in to him –
Today I tried to call again.
And hey now, what’s the word on me?
The doctors got me worrying.
The air I breathe, the things I eat –
They tell me not to worry, but –
My medicine, it’s stopped working, and
I’ve been telling on myself again.
I keep hearing things you would have said
Or written on those cards you made.
And hey now, are you still around?
I need you more than ever now.