I hear your gurgles and Iwonder if you're dying today.
Then, startled you awaken and call my name, as if
I'm your source of everything. I reassure that all's well
for now and you resume your lung's sick cacophony
whose ugliness makes me yearn for a lullaby.
But you never knew how to sing to me. And now
any song's inaudible behind the noise of disease.
It chomps so loud, munching tired cellular embroidery
in your head, erasing everything - except you
the one I never knew.
The disease deceived, thinks its noise a winner.
I shrug helplessly, knowing it has won a lot.
But due to its pernicious intensity, eliminating
all static from your mind,
it has revealed your soul, translucent.
And I know it is I, have won bigger.
I hear you clearly because you don't remember
how to hide. Your truth - beautiful,
innocent, sincere and kind flows.
And though your song is too soft now,
I can listen to the melody
within your silence.
I wrote this a few weeks ago, when my mother was at the hospital with pneumonia.
I felt the need to post something today, it's been so long. Sorry I have nothing cheerful to draw from right now.
The wait seems eternal and nobody likes to wait. But wait is all I do as I observe her increased proximity to death.
I write almost daily, but as I peruse my words, I realize I must sound morbid so I refrain from blogging. I know you understand.
Today, my mother hardly woke from a deep slumber - a prelude to her future permanent sleep. I find myself with so little to do, without even the need to help her feel more comfortable.
Somehow, I think if I attempt to read some of your posts, it will start to remind me that life goes on. So, I'll try to visit your blogs within the next few days.