The Morning You Died

I have no idea what I was wearing. There is really no way to figure out such insignificant details. Sleepy and confused I sat by your side. You gasped and heaved for a breath. Your eyes were wide and distant. Watching your chest rise and fall, counting each breath knowing your passage was near. I stumbled in the dark of that moment in the light of the morning. My words were empty as they left my lips and filled the unfillable air, meaningless comfort. Your last breath was a bit of a mystery. I waited for your chest to inflate again as I had done hundreds of times before. Never had I known breathing as a chore the way you labored for each one. Counting seconds turned into the unrealistic abyss of death, left me empty. Numb, I memorized the moment. Your death was not violent or peaceful. Your struggle was a glorious show of the space between two worlds. And suddenly, after a long pause, the room fell silent. You were gone. The rains came in the middle of August. The essence of your spirit I pray will haunt and inspire me all the days I have remaining on this earth. My greatest earthly blessing. My mother. . . . . . .

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s