Mom will not see another solstice in this life. Day is night and night is day as night approaches. They say the morphine is to help with breathing and for the pain; but mom was breathing ok before and she had no pain other than that of the children she bore and the grandchildren she raised not stopping by to see her. They say karma will take care of dastardly deeds, but why does it need to be now, when she is at death’s door?
They say that hearing is the last to go. Today, as I sit at her bedside, rubbing her arms and hands with lotion and looking for a sign, I sing her songs to help her on her way. “Presence of the Lord,” “He’s everything to me,” and “Golden Slumbers.” She is at peace. I hope she hears them. I hope she hears when I tell her I’m sorry for not being the daughter she wanted me to be. I hope she hears me tell her I love her and that I want her to stay, yet I know she has to go.
Nurse holds the morphine
as her chest rises and falls
faint now; voices fade…
Frank J Tassone is today’s host of dVerse’ Monday Haibun. Frank says:
New to haibun? The form consists of one to a few paragraphs of prose—usually written in the present tense—that evoke an experience and are often non-fictional/autobiographical. They may be preceded or followed by one or more haiku—nature-based, using a seasonal image—that complement without directly repeating what the prose stated.