Finding Solace

Usually, I'm the strong one.

I hold others up, let them seek
whatever glimmer of light there is,
and help them turn up the wattage
until they shine and glow
all on their own.

Through words carefully chosen
sometimes with silence
or a caring touch, unerring
encouragement and belief
in their heart, their core.

Usually, I am the strong one.

Absorbing tears and frustrations;
mirroring back confidence
in small progressions, feeding
tenacity. Knowing when to push
or hold.

Knowing quiet says more, sometimes,
when mouthed platitudes fall
on disbelieving or deafened ears.
Sharing acceptance when options fail,
but being there nonetheless.

I feel unusual: unable, this time,
to accept what cannot be changed.
Wanting to hold on to what is now
but mist or smoke. I can't capture
the spirit, can't reach through the blank.

Helpless. When the one who fixes
doesn't have the parts: permanently
out of stock. She is going extinct
before my eyes; her brain wiping clean
the most extraordinary of slates.

There is nothing I can do but watch
as her essence is erased. Serenity,
thus far, escapes me. No blame
in her direction, not her choice
to be in the place her mind is.

Not a blessed thing about me.
Yet the pain of being lost,
of ceasing to exist for her
hurts knife deep. Logic
wars with emotion.

They say you don't miss
what you have never known.
Her loss is immeasurable to me;
but maybe, perhaps, it is easier for her.
And in that, I will find strength.