Tuesday, February 15, 2005

My fingers lie quietly upon these keys as my brain is blank as what to write. Then they began moving on their on violition. I sit here listening to the gurgle of momma's breathing trying to not think of the inevitable. She is dying and this very night may be her last. Many times over the last few years we - my brother and I - have thought her close but always knew she still had some kick left in her. She is a survivor. A tough cookie. Or also known as "Sarge" in the days she marched at the Harvey House. But now I look at tired eyes, lifeless pools of color. Arms tender and swollen, black and blue from skin tears, curled close to her breast, fingers closed in a fist. Afraid, yet ready to go, she longs to be gone from this body that has betrayed the strong spirit within.

Again my fingers pause, where to take my rambling thoughts from here. I think rather than reflect on our past, I shall speak of the present. My friend she is. Always there. Always giving. Loving me uncondtionally just as Jesus would want. This time has been the greatest time God, my father, has given me. A time for us to get to know each other. To grow in a way we neaver accomplised in my childhood. A time for me to love and to really feel what this woman has given me. Tears roll down my face, not in sadness though some would mistake it as such. But in love. True heartfelt love for my mother.

The tears ran like rivulets in sadness in the preceeding days and weeks. Anger that she didn't try harder. Frustration because she stopped trying. Resolve that her only wishes are to be healed and have peace. Only one road to the rest she craves. What kind of thoughts and feeling will I have in the future days. I know she is going to a better place. Not just like people say to have something to say when a loved one goes. But truly going to the home Jesus and the Father have prepared. That place that each of us crave whether we know it or not. Our whole life is but a trip to another destination. A different place to explore.

I catch myself everytime I walk in her room watching her chest for that tell-tale sign there is yet a few more breaths of life in a lifeless body. It still rises. Up and down like the tides of the ocean. And my own breath slowly escapes my lips. Not even realizing I was holding it.

I probably won't sleep tonight. Or maybe I will out of exhaustion. The watch has begun I am blessed that I can be here with her. Never alone.
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