Darcy Leech

“Her words felt like a new beginning, a turning of a page, and, ominously, rang like the beginning of a final chapter.”
― Darcy Leech, 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.”
― Darcy Leech, 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.”
― Darcy Leech, 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.”
― Darcy Leech, 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.”
― Darcy Leech, 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.”
― Darcy Leech, From My Mother