Monday, March 12, 2012
On March 13, two years ago
Winter had pretty much yielded to spring;
New green infused with sunlight dazzled the eyes.
Fruit trees were frilly with pink and white bloom;
Fields were buttered lavishly with mustard flower.
And you lay dying in your bed at home...
"I'm not giving up," you told me.
(The doctor said all treatments had been exhuasted.)
"I'm still not giving up."
I sat on the edge of your bed, holding your hand
That seemed so little and smooth, like a child's hand.
And I realized I had never seen Death up close,
Never watched that dark tide rise and unfold
Taking back, as it fell,
The warmth, the spark, the breath,
The rage and radiance of a human soul.
You were the best friend a person could have;
Your laughter pulled me from the muck of melancholy
Again and again,
And helped me regain perspective.
We went on car trips, taking our special needs kids,
...and frequently got lost.
I always hated getting lost,
Except when I was with you, and then it was funny --
Hillarious, in fact.
Taking one wrong turn and then another, and really
With you, Sherryl,
I was never lost.
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March 14, 2012 at 1:05 AM
March 18, 2012 at 3:44 PM
Sherryl would have loved this, Mom.
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