blue flower

I listen to her breathe.  Her hand is growing colder by the moment.  Dreams make her eyes flutter.  Please God, let them be peaceful.

She has felt no pain, not a drop of morphine has been needed.  Alzheimer’s does some good after all; cancer will take her before it can do its worst.  Until then she hangs in this horrible balance; so do I.

Dark blue wildflowers wilt on the bedside table and through the window on the third floor the summer sky is full of rain clouds.  I can see the chapel from here but it seems so far away, shrouded in shadows and mist.

The clouds part and the cross atop the steeple glints, a wink in my direction before the thunderheads close in again.

I wait, thinking deep thoughts about life, love and death; feeling much too small to answer any of them on my own.  She always had the answers and now she sleeps.  If she opens her eyes again I know what I’ll say.

She doesn’t though.  They tell me I can take as much time as I want; I leave right away.  I walk to the chapel where she waits for me.


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