PURPOSEFUL POETRY
Something you may not know about me; I love writing. Whether it's letters to people, jotting down my thoughts or writing poetry, I love it. I also find it a great release if I'm ever feeling anxious, depressed or a little down. Engaging your brain and keeping it active and occupied is important during those times. It helps you from spiralling and living in your anxious thoughts because you're focusing on themes, wording, and messages. I find writing allows you to confront certain feelings in a different way; it forces you to address matters but gives you a creative, emotive way to do so. More so, I feel it keeps things at an arms length; almost detaches you from the issue so you can gain a different perspective to rationally and logically deal with it. I highly recommend writing as a release for anyone who may go through these things, or if you're simply in a bad mood and are trying to let things go.
I wrote this on the second Mother's Day I celebrated without Mumbo. It speaks to how she raised us five children and the transition to her fight and eventual loss against Cancer. It aims to serve as a reminder that you can channel any adversity into strength, which is what we did.
Her Rose Quintet
Roses were her favourite. They bloomed against the blue picket fence that shielded the Queenslander from the street. A perfect reason for passers by to stop and admire the house behind the fence. You see, to them that is all it was. A house with thriving flora framing it. They couldn’t see the home that was in front of them. They had no idea she was simply trying to match the beauty on the outside to that hidden inside. For her real favourite roses grew indoors. Their beds filled with blankets and bedtime stories, not dirt. Five roses with different length stems sprouted from the same seed. Thornes bloomed on the roses outside as nature intended. She removed them inside as nurture did. Although she might have missed a few the aim was the same, take away anything that may cause pain. Outside, petals and flower heads got picked off by strangers, torn and thrown on the sidewalk only to float away forgotten in the breeze. A fate that was not for her beloved five. Inside, their petals were protected; they fell naturally, shedding the worn in order for something more beautiful to bloom. Never at the hands of others. She wouldn’t allow it. These roses would not float away forgotten. These roses were her. They would be remembered and recognised for the beauty and good they bring to the world. No outside element could damage her quintet by picking at them physically or verbally. No petals would be bruised. Their fragrance would not diminish. You see she watered them with confidence and strength. She grew them with love. Each natural falling petal brought her pride. A reminder she had nurtured them to grow on their own. At their own pace. In their own way. Nothing could break them. It rained a sad realization that she wouldn’t be able to watch them flourish forever. She was fading. It may have been sunny outside but inside was blurred with raindrops. She didn’t let these raindrops flood the house and drown her roses; instead she channeled them into each of the five pots and used it to strengthen their growth. For her there was no silver lining, each cloud was opaque with silver. The only real way to see clouds. She was confident she had nourished the soil enough for them to stand on their own without her. Day one in her absence. All five flowers dipped. There were thorns she simply couldn’t remove. The sun hid behind the comfort of a cloud that looked anything but silver. Raindrops fell again. It wasn’t long before the quintet remembered how they were cared for. Remembered her strength. She was unbelievably strong and so, too, were they. Strong enough to thrive. After all they had each other. They shed their own thorns and began channeling those raindrops into their own pots to grow. Each shed petals at their own pace and began to stand tall. Now they stand taller than ever before. To be as close as they can to the sky above. That’s where she flies. The only place she can be with all five at once. People still stop to admire the flora on that blue picket fence; unaware of the true love and beauty she brought this world. As the youngest flower I am thankful I got to witness it everyday by being around her.
