She’s waiting for God, she tells those who arrive and inquire.
My beloved mother knows she will be departing soon. On a recent visit, when I walked to her bedside to greet her, she was so happy to see me but her eyes welled up and that’s when I knew of her awareness. That weekend, I spent many hours by her side, singing and praying, hoping to give her some solace in that my voice would reassure her of my love and of God’s love.
During my last visit, she was in a semi-woken state in spells. Her sleep was light and my touch would wake her, enough to open her eyes. She has lost vision and no one was prepared for this. But, it doesn’t seem to frighten her, nor does she mention it. The few words she speaks are to reassure us that she is not in pain and prefers no food or drink. She awaits her next journey, where she’ll find shelter and nourishment in that other world where her parents are standing by for her arrival.
We, her family, are under her spell, anxiously wondering about the next unknown developments that will need our attention. Will she need oxygen, morphine or simply a quiet room filled with loved ones who converse around her, permitting her the sense of contentment in a final gathering with her progeny.
I hold her hand and wish that I could hold her in my arms like her maternal embrace that held me while she nursed me for two years. The lifeline between us is eternal. I was once a single cell of hers and have carried her genes proudly. I sigh and weep while I light a candle for her, one of her favorite saint.
It’s been a pleasure to apply lotions, perfume, & lipstick on her beautiful youthful skin. I wish for her to feel my tender warmth and realize how much she is loved. She is my mother queen who deserves all the devotion we can extend to her before time runs out. Why do so many wait til the end for this amount of expression.
The visitors have come in solemnly and share a smile or shed a tear. They know a new chapter is upon us, without her playing a role. She has nurtured three generations and is leaving them with much gratitude for her gifts. The cycle of her life has been abundant, prolific and benevolent, and is soon about to adjourn. I wait with my head bowed in gratitude.
~ steph
Mom has resumed light nourishment but I know time is running out.
They’re frail and falling, wasting away before me.
And I can’t contemplate a means to help them.
Is it that they are to follow the native call, as their mission is done?
Should they bow, be thankful, and bring a final nod in acknowledgement.
~
The seeds they planted have bloomed or withered.
The legacy of characters they built are well-constructed – or not.
Legends they read to branches will hopefully carry on.
From their lips to others, the stories have passed on to offspring.
But a tree will whisper their sins and deeds after they depart.
And stains or footprints shall be left, deeply embedded in hearts.
~
Is it too late for them to shift the narrative.
To stir the fire of love and remembrance.
Otherwise leaving the hardness of bitter seasons.
All these lessons, those our ancestors left us.
And we were to transmit the wiser ones forward.
Gentle goodness or secret paths to forsake.
~
Will they be loved in memory or be condemned in thought.
Will we say their name, the endearing one preferred.
Posies shall be placed in their honor, by tearful hands.
And the sun above will be scorching as they lie in wait.
To hear our caring step – or forever not – will be their fate.
~ steph
My siblings are dying from premature disease. I see it, unable to stop their visible decline, and i wonder if they see the same in me, and I also wonder if they’re in denial of their destiny while ignoring the legacy they might want to leave behind.
In the heart of this maddening winter, I am not finding time or flow for lovely words. The world is spinning furiously and so is the heart and conscience of those who care.
I am not able to spend the best corner of my mind dwelling in fantasy, or strolls among the tulips when the planet is on fire outside my window. It’s the horrors that have taken occupation of my land that are creating turmoil within my inner humanity.
I’m not just mad at the monsters who lit the match but I’m perplexed at their ability to carry on merrily through their daily endeavors while the rest of us scream in rage and empathetic pain. They likely don’t fear the spark that is traveling back their way. Do they really believe we will hold back retribution for their sins. We aren’t forgetting. They might believe their Gods will forgive them but we won’t.
I, and many, are feeling powerless as we hold back on our own basic instincts to light the explosives that lie dormant within us. We are keen on keeping peace and harmony but eventually, the volcano of twisted emotions will be impossible to keep dormant. We are not happy with the disturbances that we know shall result from our inevitable reactions. It won’t be what we desire but the destruction will happen.
The countdown is on. The masses are unaware that the roar of the pacifist is as passionate as her principles. Behind the outrage are contemplated ideas, introspections of how best to quench the streaking flame. We are capable of dousing it with more than one formula. Our heads and hearts are together despite the reluctance of the cowardly.
The moment approaches. We won’t wear headgear. We won’t need it. No one will know who we are because we will march silently, incognito, and when no one is looking. The resistance is invisible and indivisible. May our efforts be swift, certain and successful.
Is she dying or did the charitable sentiments evaporate.
Are the once-beautiful emotions now ashen roses resting silently in a garden of mulched apathy.
I miss her but she must not miss me, and the good times we had are possibly now forgotten.
Or perhaps, she’s unaware that the memories are gone. Has her mind succumbed along with the feelings?
Is she existing in status of “thereby gone”, and not needing the presence of me and my warmth.
I haven’t much to share but I did have a sympathetic voice to soothe and a gentle touch to calm.
I wonder if she is ill and believes it’s best to remain absent, to avoid disturbing my delicate equilibrium. She knows me well and might remember how I become an anxious pile of mush when I’m stressed.
I miss her though. Doesn’t she miss me. I ask myself this too often, and i need to reprimand myself for this..
But the reality is that I’m missing too many — her and many others on this day – and every day! Damn, I’m tired of this longing mode I stay in, and seldom without relief. Heaven might know but nobody else seems to be aware that I remain in a perpetual state of wishing for their sweet voices, charming smiles and close bonding that we shared.
There’s too many to count – the deceased ones (my grandparents), those surviving (mom and nearest & dearest) and my beloved friends — who are better than blood sisters, and who abide by the same morals and creed that I do. Only my chaise – this floral cushion of comfort – is here to soften my day, and even that gets hard and painful after too long.
I know it’s time for me to rise and look around my block, and close my eyes that destiny will bring across some strangers who are on the same dark cloud that I’m floating along in.
~ steph
Even if i make new friends, I wont stop loving/missing the others.
The Shuttered Muse 
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