The call comes.
A flurry of activity ensues.
Is she aware?
Is she there?
Each breath scrutinized.
Sit and watch.
Was there a slight change?
We speak words of love, not knowing if they are heard.
Even the aids kiss her forehead as tears roll down their faces.
Our hearts melt.
We love their love.
Faith and reality collide.
How did she become so frail, so vulnerable?
Why the brutal process at the end?
Children know best.
They were not always sweet.
We carry that with us.
Yet, she loved.
She was tender.
She was my mother.
Many, many kindnesses at just the right time.
Grace in sorrow.
Suddenly, on a plane again.
Things to get in order.
Adjusting to a new reality.
A generation passed.
Hey boomer, we are at the top of the ladder.
Rockers in rockers.
Leave something real good behind.
Enjoy the gift.
Make it count.
This piece is my attempt to process my Mom’s death who passed away December 23rd.
The photo is of a sunset outside the nursing home the evening she passed.
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