I've been afraid of death since I became a mom.
What will happen to the baby if I die? 

But we're all going to die.
How old does Mommy need to be before she can
Peacefully die?
Mommy
Will have to live until you're weaned.
When you officially say goodbye to my breasts,
The first toy of your life,
And fall in love with a new bear or frog.
That’s when I can die.
Mommy can't let death take away
Your first attachment.

Or I shall live until you go to school before I can die.
To see you carry that ugly school bag,
Walk with you through the unfamiliar school gates,
And then let go of your little hand
And watch you run into the midst of laughter and malicious rumors.
Playing with power like a game when necessary,
There's so much to learn at school.

Or I shall live to see our first movie.
It has to be a comedy.
So that our laughter can resonate through
The seats of the movie theater
With popcorn crumbs and generations of dust mites,
Sealed with falling hair.

Or I shall live until you fall in love.
Watch you learn to love and hurt,
To be loved and to be hurt.
Wipe away your tears and take you out for a beer
Or smoke a joint which I haven't tried yet.
Recognizing that grief and joy can coexist,
Loss and gain bloom on the same branch.
Spring is short and fall is cool.

Or I shall live until you're married so I can
Say those stern words to you:
"Mom never laid a hand on you in your life. If you get married,
I'll break your legs."
Play the drama queen you see in soap operas who slams the door, storms out, and reconciles with you in tears.
And then I can leave with ease.
I’m sure that the worst moments of my life are behind me and
No farce will ever hurt you again.
Or I shall live to see you have a baby and
Embark on a commitment that will make you understand
What it means to be a mom and
The old joke about giving up my life to love you.
And then I will tell you, "Don't be afraid.
Don't panic. I'll help you.”
And you'll hate me again
And again.
Or I just want to know
If your children will be as charming as you are.
Then I'll know,
You've lost the choice to die at will
In the coming days.

A mother's years are
Intertwined with her child's life,
A candlelight casts a shadow
Mom's roots go deeper and deeper.
No matter when the time arrives,
Her death is filled with guilt and reluctance.
Mommy can't become a Buddha.
Mommy will go to hell.

 _Written on the birthday of 2018.

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