the sense of loss didn’t kick in right away.
At first it was a relief – a break from watching that struggle to breathe
to think, to climb the stairs,
to take those few steps to the bathroom, to sleep.
And the lack,
the lack of dignity from having your every bodily fluid measured
Your every mouthful counted out and nutritionally valued.
The pricking of your thumbs became the bruising of your arms,
your legs, your face
as the fluid refused to dissipate.
But no, you said,
God was good and you would get your miracle.
You’d be the one who would be able to stand up and show that a life lived
with due care and prayer
would receive blessings.
Gradually you shrank before my eyes, diminished to the point of
Which, when it came, was for the younger you.
Not the you in your final moments.