Sandwiched

My mom turns 84 at the end of the year, and she is fiercely independent. She fell last month, her entire left arm in a cast, the same wrist she broke years ago in a bad fall while on vacation in Aruba. This time, she fell while out and about getting a haircut at her favorite salon on West Side Avenue (JC). Thankfully the folks who rent the second floor in her two-family home are like family. Grateful that my godsister lives across the street, and our Filipino neighbors are caring. I am not sure how much longer my mom can live alone. Reserved, she has her routine of her daily walks in the park and Filipino teleserias keep her company along with the feral cats whom she feeds outside her garage. But they bring unwanted guests - mice. 

And we have a fourteen-year-old daughter. Raising a teen in this era of constant anxiety, pressure, and screens has its own challenges. Not to mention my partner's own apprehension around his career, organizational board tensions and the impact of AI. Or the fact that his fully remote position keeps his already introverted self isolated. 

Yesterday was the 25th anniversary of 9.11. I completely lost it at a memorial service, holding it in all week as my circles and I checked in with each other, reflecting on our shared journeys of that dreadful day. I remember my morning ritual of making sure that I read each New York Times obituary of every person who perished. Oh that mourning ritual seemed to last forever. 

--
this saturday morning
alone in the kitchen
in the lull and hum of the fridge
and the september breeze
cicadas rattle 
i will quaff my sorrow
and sip my iced cold brew
sprinkled with cinnamon and cayenne
like life phases and their layered complexities
i sit and know
these feelings will pass
breathe in calm
breathe out worry
breathe in peace