My youngest son is mentally ill,
His troubles are immense:
He is very bipolar
In its actual, technical sense
He spends the lonely nights depressed
Or making manic rounds:
He strugges with identity
With wild ups and downs
And while he has professionals
In mental health advising
There have been many side effects
From his treatment arising
They say that love’s transformative
To those within its thrall:
But though I’d give my life for him
It hasn’t helped
At all
What she’s lost
Only her sister would know
No mother there to see her success
Nor to see the woman that she
Has become
No father to call now
When she has car troubles
Nor to walk her down the aisle
No parents to be there
When her first child is born
And ‘family’ at Christmas
Will always be incomplete
Another day on the calendar
To you and me
A time of unspeakable sadness
To her
And to her sister
The orphaned
All around us
We should love them
If we possibly can
That much extra
Your song will be sung to the far hills
And where children learn of wondrous things
You will be one of the chief among them
Your story, your words, your spirit
Will
Prevail
Not with the thunder of justice
But
With
The soft fall of love’s first snow
The illness that’s assaulting her
Does so with no remorse:
Do not say “you’ll get used to it”
Or “It will run its course” —
Just try to understand, and take
Some sympathy on board:
Pain is the one thing in a life
That cannot be ignored
If we do not know constant hurt
We cannot know its fetter —
Do we, in foolish ignorance
Think that we would do better?
