My hurried steps down the hospital hall got stares from many directions but they didn't exist. I walk into room 117 and see you lying there. Your breath is labored and your eyes are closed.
You respond with a pained grunt to let me know you know I am here. Tears spill over when I find out that you went blind yesterday. I stroke your chopped off hair that used to be long and flowing. Dad did the best he could and he didn't want you to feel pain anymore from the weight of your thick hair. I sing "Send It On Down" and if you could have smiled I think you would have.
"I love you Mom. I forgive you Mom."
Your skin is sunk in and yellowish. This lump forms in my throat and it just won't go away. I think of the time and the pictures of you pushing us on the swing and my body tightens with grief.
"Don't go mommy. Please don't go." I whisper so daddy can't hear me. Rachel's face flashes in my mind and I sob loudly.
"She needs you. We need you." I find a way to choke these words out and you grunt some more.
You pass away 12 hours later making my heart moan and my soul scream in anguish. I don't know how to take you leaving our world in the way that you did. In so much pain and disease.
Two days later I seem to float like in a dream into the funeral home to join the grievers for your "viewing". I viewed you lying there still and your lips pressed tightly together. You never looked like that when you were breathing...even when you were mad. These losers did the best they could do I suppose. I touch your cold arm and shudder. I stare at your hands with the rose grasped in them and I swear that I could see your eyes open just for a moment and you smile. I look quickly back and you are still the same and I sob. I am wishing that would happen I suppose. I pray to the God above to take count of my tears so that you know I cared. I don't think you really knew because I was so stupid for not showing you. I hope you could see the tears that fell and the words that I spilled onto the page in your honor. I place them in your resting box. I don't like the word coffin...maked me sick to think you are lying in one. You are only 40 mommy. Ah! but you are better now they say. You are singing with the angels and out showing them by far. You are sipping coffee with the Messiah because you always said there just had to be some in heaven. You got me hooked on that stuff I hope you know. You do.
We are going to place you in the ground for now until Jesus rolls up the sky. I will sign until that day because the ground isn't where you belong.....not at all. Until the end of this world, Goodbye and I love you.
Your response, "I love you too now go to sleep..."
"I will Mommy."
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