Last year, my mother was dying– slipping from the hands of those she loved, carried away on an invisible current, far beyond the horizon.
Those final days were busy; turning Mom and medicating her every two hours around the clock, caring for Grandma too, coordinating family phone calls, cooking food, cleaning house,all while grieving hard. I would gaze at my dying mother with a broken heart, filled with regret for all that she would miss, all that I would miss. Some moments I would rage and shake with body sobs that emerged from the abyss and other times I felt like a shell of a person, and if a strong wind blew my way I would crumble to ash.
Mercifully, it was gentle: She fell into a deep coma and on December 13th, as we held her hand she took her last breath.
Anger comes and goes like the weather, and at the moment my fury of a few weeks ago has drifted away. I am sad, and there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t miss her. But I also feel peace and comfort, as though she is sending me a hug from beyond. I can’t explain it, I can only accept it.