Friday, February 19, 2010

Future tense

Life changes.

Possibilities flicker
like light on water.

I am caught in the moment,
standing still.

Conscious of energies moving


but unable yet to move

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

The bright moonlight casts our shadows on the sand.
The breakers gleam white, curling in the outgoing tide.
Leaping, pirouetting,
My beautiful daughter dances down the dark beach.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Sharon Lucille Johnson Hackett
April 13, 1932 - October 26, 2009
My mom.

Friday, October 23, 2009

My mother has stopped eating now.
She has difficulty swallowing even water.
We have called the family, my brother is flying in on Monday.
He will be here for two weeks.
My guess now is that is long enough.

At the end, now, there is really nothing else to do.
I can only cherish these last days in my mother's presence,
and bear witness to her quiet passing.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Today is a perfect October day.
The sun is shining in a cloudless blue sky,
the morning chill has warmed up to midday.
We've had enough cold nights to turn the leaves,
and they are beautiful, turning every street and yard
into picture postcard autumn scenes.

I put aside my concerns and go for a walk.
It feels good to move, to let go of stress and grief,
to notice the trees, and people's gardens, 
the dogs down the neighborhood who usually go ballistic when I pass by, 
but don't today. 

I walk through the graveyard, past the big pine trees - my favorite -
pine needles crunching underfoot, 
and pause under the snaggly old chestnut tree
to fill my pockets with shiny plump brown chestnuts.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

The greatest of these is love

My mother is now non-ambulatory and largely non-verbal.
When she does speak it is usually very soft,
and she does not articulate well enough to be understood.
We now have to feed her most of the time.
She isn't eating much.
My father tries to get her to eat, kisses her and calls her pet names.
He carries her to her chair, the bathroom, the bed.
She hallucinates much of the time, quietly now,
but otherwise is still self-aware and knows who we are.
I say "Hello, Mama, I love you!"
and am rewarded with a smile, a murmured "I love you too, darling"
that is only just recognizable.
This is all she has, now.
It is true, that 'the greatest of these is love'.
In the end, when everything else has gone, my mother still has love.
It's the only thing in her life that has lasted
and pretty much the only part of her that we can hold on to.
I see the world differently now.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

I can do that