Spirit Never Dies

The Day the Lady Died is a poem by one of my favorite poets, Frank O'Hara. For whatever reason I started thinking about this poem while sitting in the CVS parking lot last night. You know how certain memories are frozen in time and you remember every little detail. I love this poem because it isolates this significant moment in his life (the day Billie Holiday died) in time, detail by mundane detail. Well, I’m sitting in the parking lot and I started thinking about this poem and then my mother. I miss her so much. I need her this week. Tell me I can do this, mother. Tell me not to give up, mother. I need someone to listen to me and encourage me.

Am I searching for something outside of myself ? I am my biggest cheerleader. I no longer need my mother’s validation. The spirit of my mother, her confidence in my abilities, her love for me was nice. I enjoyed it for the brief time we spent together. I can still feel it and channel it and feed upon it. But, is it really necessary to do so? The ultimate lesson is that I do not need it at all. I never did. It was an illusion…just like the surreal feeling I get when I read Frank O’Hara’s poem. The truth is spirit never dies. Billie Holiday's spirit. My mother's spirit. My spirit. The part of me that I thought was dead is still alive. I demonstrate it each time I get out there and walk.