Darcy Leech
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Born
in Blythville Air Force Base, Arkansas, The United States
April 22, 1986
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From My Mother
2 editions
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published
2016
—
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“Her words felt like a new beginning, a turning of a page, and, ominously, rang like the beginning of a final chapter.”
― From My Mother
― From My Mother
“My mom’s smile is genuine,
A lilac beaming
In the presence of her Sun.
Indentions in the sand prove
Time’s linear progression,
Her hair yet unblighted,
Carrying midnight’s consistency.
Clear tracks fading as the
Movement slips further
In the past.
Cheekbones
High, soft,
In summer’s hue,
Hopeful.
Each step’s unknown impact,
A future looking back.
My father’s strength:
One whose
Life is in his arms.
Squinting past the camera,
He rests upon a rock
Like caramel corn half eaten,
Just to the left
Of man-made concrete convention
Daylight’s eraser
Removing color to his right.
Dustin sits
In my father’s lap,
Open mouth of a drooling
Big mouth bass;
Muscle tone
Of a well exercised
Jelly fish,
He looks at me
Half aware;
His wheelchair
Perched at the edge
Of parking lot gravel grafted
Like a scar on nature’s beach,
Opening to the ironic splendor
Of a bitter tasting lake.
I took the picture.
Age 11.
Capturing the pinnacle arc
Of a son
To my lilac
Who
Outlived him and weeps,
Still.
Their sky has staple holes –
Maybe that’s how the
Light
Leaked out.”
― From My Mother
A lilac beaming
In the presence of her Sun.
Indentions in the sand prove
Time’s linear progression,
Her hair yet unblighted,
Carrying midnight’s consistency.
Clear tracks fading as the
Movement slips further
In the past.
Cheekbones
High, soft,
In summer’s hue,
Hopeful.
Each step’s unknown impact,
A future looking back.
My father’s strength:
One whose
Life is in his arms.
Squinting past the camera,
He rests upon a rock
Like caramel corn half eaten,
Just to the left
Of man-made concrete convention
Daylight’s eraser
Removing color to his right.
Dustin sits
In my father’s lap,
Open mouth of a drooling
Big mouth bass;
Muscle tone
Of a well exercised
Jelly fish,
He looks at me
Half aware;
His wheelchair
Perched at the edge
Of parking lot gravel grafted
Like a scar on nature’s beach,
Opening to the ironic splendor
Of a bitter tasting lake.
I took the picture.
Age 11.
Capturing the pinnacle arc
Of a son
To my lilac
Who
Outlived him and weeps,
Still.
Their sky has staple holes –
Maybe that’s how the
Light
Leaked out.”
― From My Mother
“I haven’t been able to pray with the same unquestioned simplicity of hope since Dustin passed. My childhood ended the day my brother died. The naive hope that a miracle would save him, that he would one day walk, that a disease was a blessing in my family – that hope died with him.”
― From My Mother
― From My Mother
“My lessons from my mother’s life are many, but one that stings the most and the one I want to imbue in my heart is to not judge people negatively by how they act, even if they look normal, or have been normal in your past, because you never know what they have to fight inside — something they never chose to have.
The answer to Dustin walking was not willpower. He was not born to walk, and while trying made us better people, more practice wasn’t the answer — compassion was. The answer to the feeling that I was losing my mother slowly over the years was not to try to motivate her into a new perspective to magically fix all the problems — it was love.”
― From My Mother
The answer to Dustin walking was not willpower. He was not born to walk, and while trying made us better people, more practice wasn’t the answer — compassion was. The answer to the feeling that I was losing my mother slowly over the years was not to try to motivate her into a new perspective to magically fix all the problems — it was love.”
― From My Mother
“It took until the end of her life for me to cherish each day with my mother the way I naturally did with my brother. At the end, I loved my mother simply, without request to do better in any way, or be more capable in any way. I simply loved that she was there, and she was my mother.
I wish I did that more often in my life. I will do that more often in my life for those who are still here.”
― From My Mother
I wish I did that more often in my life. I will do that more often in my life for those who are still here.”
― From My Mother
“My mom’s smile is genuine,
A lilac beaming
In the presence of her Sun.
Indentions in the sand prove
Time’s linear progression,
Her hair yet unblighted,
Carrying midnight’s consistency.
Clear tracks fading as the
Movement slips further
In the past.
Cheekbones
High, soft,
In summer’s hue,
Hopeful.
Each step’s unknown impact,
A future looking back.
My father’s strength:
One whose
Life is in his arms.
Squinting past the camera,
He rests upon a rock
Like caramel corn half eaten,
Just to the left
Of man-made concrete convention
Daylight’s eraser
Removing color to his right.
Dustin sits
In my father’s lap,
Open mouth of a drooling
Big mouth bass;
Muscle tone
Of a well exercised
Jelly fish,
He looks at me
Half aware;
His wheelchair
Perched at the edge
Of parking lot gravel grafted
Like a scar on nature’s beach,
Opening to the ironic splendor
Of a bitter tasting lake.
I took the picture.
Age 11.
Capturing the pinnacle arc
Of a son
To my lilac
Who
Outlived him and weeps,
Still.
Their sky has staple holes –
Maybe that’s how the
Light
Leaked out.”
― From My Mother
A lilac beaming
In the presence of her Sun.
Indentions in the sand prove
Time’s linear progression,
Her hair yet unblighted,
Carrying midnight’s consistency.
Clear tracks fading as the
Movement slips further
In the past.
Cheekbones
High, soft,
In summer’s hue,
Hopeful.
Each step’s unknown impact,
A future looking back.
My father’s strength:
One whose
Life is in his arms.
Squinting past the camera,
He rests upon a rock
Like caramel corn half eaten,
Just to the left
Of man-made concrete convention
Daylight’s eraser
Removing color to his right.
Dustin sits
In my father’s lap,
Open mouth of a drooling
Big mouth bass;
Muscle tone
Of a well exercised
Jelly fish,
He looks at me
Half aware;
His wheelchair
Perched at the edge
Of parking lot gravel grafted
Like a scar on nature’s beach,
Opening to the ironic splendor
Of a bitter tasting lake.
I took the picture.
Age 11.
Capturing the pinnacle arc
Of a son
To my lilac
Who
Outlived him and weeps,
Still.
Their sky has staple holes –
Maybe that’s how the
Light
Leaked out.”
― From My Mother
“I haven’t been able to pray with the same unquestioned simplicity of hope since Dustin passed. My childhood ended the day my brother died. The naive hope that a miracle would save him, that he would one day walk, that a disease was a blessing in my family – that hope died with him.”
― From My Mother
― From My Mother
“Her words felt like a new beginning, a turning of a page, and, ominously, rang like the beginning of a final chapter.”
― From My Mother
― From My Mother

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Hi Rose! I wrote that poem in college and revised it about 5 times as one of my main projects in my creative writing class. I cried everytime. After that class, I hid that poem and didn't let anyone read it until I was 25 after my mother passed away. I think it is my most beautiful piece of poetry I have written, but I didn't want to hurt my mother by letting her read it. She never read it. But now I am happy to share it because it is one of the most real revelations of my feelings as a teenager/young adult growing up with parents mourning the loss of a sibling.
I'm glad you enjoyed it, and appreciate of the reblog! It helps me good to have a meaningful and personal part of my healing process be visible to move others. Thank you!
Glad we connected on Goodreads! Can't wait to share the rest of my story with you.
Can you link me to your blog? I'd love to check it out.

Quote from the poem:-
‘My mom’s smile is genuine,
A lilac beaming
In the presence of her Sun.’
The poem is truly beautiful and left me with a teary smile. Thank you for sharing this intimacy with the world.
Fondest Wishes Rose