“The Wretched Bemoan” Jo Ann Cooksey Bono
I am the 3 am phone call you never want to get.
I am the child who is now the mother losing her child.
I am the frustration of watching your helplessness and confusion.
I am the anger of you fading into some dark cloudy world that I cannot and do not want to enter.
I am the resentment of having to deal with the responsibility and decisions alone.
I am the guilt that says I could have done more.
I am the one unable to answer the “why” of this.
I am the guttural panic button, the primordial scream…
The fossilized sadness of pain that has been here since the beginning of time; called upon to explain and to release the impossible.