How I could have loved you

For a friend reading her mother's journal after her death

What I mean when I say I feel abandoned
is that I am afraid of being alone.
What I mean when I say you did not love me well
is that I don't know how to love myself well.
What I mean when I heave bitterness
is that I am wracked with grief without knowing
how to grieve.

If I could...
If I could allow my body, which has already
absorbed so much pain
to feel this deep pain

If I could trust that this broken heart
would not be destroyed
But that sorrow would flow through like a river
cleaning out the debris of years of fear
opening up inner caverns

If I could name:
grief
fear
pain
discouragement
loss

Then how much more could those widened spaces
be filled with love and gratitude?

How much more could these eyes, cleansed with tears
see you, my child, sparkling like the sun on the sea?

How much more could I receive the gifts you offer
the blessing of knowing your true self, and not
the shadow shape of my own need?

How much wisdom could I learn, and teach,
how much gentleness, how much kindness?

How safe could this body be, which has never been safe?
How filled with hope beyond reason?

And love, unconditional, un-grasping,
unafraid.