The experience I had while writing in my diary on September 7, 2001, is unique in my life. Portions of what follows were written while asleep; other parts with my eyelids shut and refusing to open. Although I have woken up with ink leaking onto my paper many times after falling asleep while writing, this is the first and only occasion to my knowledge during which I continued writing after losing the fight to stay awake.

I do recall one other time in my life when my eyes slammed shut as they did on 09-07-01; it was while being anesthetised prior to major surgery. As the medication took hold I realized that my eyes would no longer open, although I could still laugh, hear and speak, for about thirty seconds as I recall. On 09-07-01, I wrote whole lines of verse, some of which I can stand to share with others, while physically incapable of opening my eyes. I cannot estimate how long this episode lasted, but I do recall that when I emerged from that state I was again fully conscious, at which time I wrote the lines that begin, "Wow," and end in the incomplete line, "Take easiest leave of." After writing "of" I spontaneously fell into a deep sleep and slept for several hours unbothered by dreams or itchy fingers.

My own skepticism if nothing else requires my acknowledgment that on 09-07-01 , I was seriously sleep-deprived and had been for a sustained period of time, since the night (July 19, 2001, about one and one-half months previously) when my daughter was killed. However, the experience I had while writing the following had never happened before and has not recurred regardless of how little I have slept in the days and nights before. Sleeplessness continues to play a prominent role in my life as I struggle to recover from the blow of Bekah's loss. To be honest, I have been an insomniac since childhood. It is worse since she died.

I have edited what I wrote on 09-07-01 in order to remove unintelligible or insensible words and also to asthetically improve the poem, which should not be construed as the elusive and desired work of ultimate artistry that hopefully I will write one day and that will carry the title, "Bekah."

As always, comments and critique are welcome and appreciated. Thank you, Barbara

9/7/01 12:44 a.m.

Bek, I am going to work today! Sitting here in this bed all surrounded by the remnants of you. I want to write a poem and call it "Bekah." And I have been crying; I have nothing but that title to go on so far. Believe it or not "This Special Hell" was written with just that title for inspiration. But "Bekah"? seems it should be so quintessential, you know? I do have to find that old pretty weak effort. I know it ends:

(g)? is that a giggle? I love you Bek; miss you so acutely. I actually thought "This Special Hell" was pretty good and turned to an expression of recovery as it ended. Yet all that has been read in it as far as I can tell is the grief.

Oh well! not like that grief ain't real...

She laughs, laughs     opportunistically, with a sound     that was not known     Before her. She romances laughter and     thrives on each guffaw,     A woman need never     Be bored. Yeah. She talks, talks and talks   Her topics are infinitely     Personal. Her concern     Universal, her interest keen     as that of a genius     learning to read Soon this child of brilliance Will teach grown-ups how to be How to keep the sparkle     humor, curiosity For her it is something personal, She cares. Bekah cares. Bekah's body: 21 Bekah's soul: old Bekah's energy follows her laugh to the beyond that makes this world small and miserable. Bekah's laugh echoes beyond our ears.

----------------
[ugh. not really]

all i am is her mother
the vehicle she rode in here on....
she gulped her way through a life
too shortly she felt many ways
she can tell you
how she felt all the stages
of obsolescence never.
All I did
was carry her in and wail her out

She'll give you
pretty stationery drawn from edge to edge,
mushrooms
                                total house music
                                oh my god! a medium

[they want to refuse you]
[the...illegible words, what i do not know]

Wow. As if Bekah hypnotized me
my girl, damned if she was
about to miss anything!

Eyelids weighted supernaturally
and the kittens, yes. The kittens
playing ring around whatever

Skipping a tisket a tasket
I left a letter in my mother's
Cosmic mail basket.

Bekah. She is the undertaker
versed in counseling her peers.
All we need to do is
Surrender our finite ears.

Take easiest leave of

-------------

7:14 a.m.
    And - then - I fell asleep! :)
Gee Bek. Seems I may have been on to something.
    ya think? I like that first part more than I thought.
Oh, it cannot capture you girl. We know that but we'll keep trying.
    Because without you in the world our love
    lies heavy, tears.
Then we cry and cry and then some more.
Our love is lightened little by little.

Conveyance. Pain.

amen.
With greatest love, your one and only mother

© Barbara Bales 1970-2002 all rights reservedMothers With Angels [my first web award! well, actually it's the second but i never figured out how to get the first...]