“The past is so hard to get from under”

“The past is so hard to get from under”

March 28th is a day of loss for me. My daughter passed away on this date. Her name is Laurynn LeShonda Letson. Usually, I don’t talk about people in my family. Many people know I have a daughter because of my “Venus” poem, and that daughter’s name is Brooklynn. Laurynn is her little sister, who would be six today. I never got to play with her, or do things I do with my other children because she was gone almost as quickly as she was here. What I did get to do was to hold her. Once. I felt her warm little body pressed against mine. She was already gone, but I still got the chance to touch her. I whispered a poem in her ear. It was more of a prayer that she would find some peace some place better then where she’d be born into. I don’t remember letting go. I wanted to follow the nurse to whatever room they were taking her, and beg them to take me. Let her stay, I’d go in her place. But I knew when I watched them wheel her away that I didn’t belong there. I wasn’t pure or perfect. I’d done to much and seen too much to just walk into the light like her.
I use to feel so guilty about it all. Like a bricks had been laid against my chest each one with her name inscribed on them. I used those bricks to build walls around my heart, and soul. The thing about being a writer, or any kind of artist for that matter means that you can not operate within walls. Walls are exactly what an artist strives against. Slowly but surely, you have to chip away at those walls, so you can be human. So you can help other people escape their own walls. I thought about writing the entry and never mention Laurynn just talk about the loss of someone close to me, but that’s just living behind the wall. It’s not living in the real world, with real pain, or real happiness. I want more for me. And more for her. I don’t want her memory to be the pain that defines me. And yet, I know sometimes it is.
I these days, I don’t look to place blame on myself, of anyone else, I just understand that sometimes life works in it’s own ways. But I miss her. In ways I don’t even know how to write about. In times that seem to be a random as hell, but somehow make sense. That’s where she lies. I don’t know how heaven works. I don’t know if what people say will happen, happens. It would be nice to see her, to tell her I love her. But I think if I don’t ever see her again, this is as good as a place as any.
“Laurynn, I prayed for you the last time I held you, and I said it to you but you were already gone, but I love you baby. As much as I do all my little ones, from now till forever”
The Universe makes space. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.