the transition

Mom is beginning her transition. It is still the early stages of the dying process, but it has begun.

Outside her home, there is a flurry of songbirds. They beat their wings and chase each other, vying for the best position on the feeders.

But inside, all is quiet and peaceful.  We speak softly. I play the harp next to my sleeping mother, who’s breathing is slow and clear.

Home is now a sanctuary, for the dying and, perhaps, for the spirits coming to show her the way.

4 thoughts on “the transition

  1. Barbara Snow

    Barbnd thank you for the beautiful picture of your mother – I really wanted to see her before the illness had its way with her – she was so beautiful – inside and out.

  2. Pingback: one year without her | born by a river

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