Fractured Relations - part two

Convocation day.

I invited both Mom and Dad,

knowing it would be awkward

but not really caring;

I wanted them both to be there,

so they could both be proud of their son.

Zaidy John came with Dad,

Mom came separately.

Afterwards,

as we walked,

I felt torn inside,

wanting to address them both together

but not believing that I could.

Hugs and pictures for both,

separately.

Zaidy John sat with Mom

as they talked, probably about

Bubbie Blemah and her worsening Alzheimer’s,

and I talked with Dad,

answering questions succinctly.

I sat there, feeling disoriented, and watched us

as if from an outside perspective,

perceiving a barrier between family,

as if some cruel hand had shattered the rigid bonds

that once held us all together.

“It’s funny how things turn out,”

Mom said to me once,

“Life is strange.”
“It’s not strange or funny,”

I replied,

“it’s just the way it is.”

It’s just the way it is

and only God knows why.

But my family didn’t die;

it broke and then transformed,

like roots breaking off a plant

and sprouting anew,

like a love fractured at its core,

fragments drifting apart into different horizons,

held together only by the sight

of fading memories

and living again in the breaths

of altered lives.