Letter to My Sister After Mother's Death

Dearest Barbara: It is not just that she is gone
that grieves us. It is the weight of having walked
her to the edge of life and mustering the courage
and the love to place her safely on the other side.

We could have let her suffer and die choking
and coughing and grasping for air. We chose
to lull her into euphoria with white pills and oxygen
set high enough to nudge her into dreamland.

We could have been thin skinned and selfish
and let nature take its course. We could have sent
her to a nursing home and let strangers ignore
her bell and pleas to have her back and butt rubbed.

We chose to watch every sign of stress and pain,
and blotted them out with gentle lies, soothing hugs
and drugs we claimed were breathing enhancers,
lung expanders and encouragers of hunger.

We cooked good food and fed it to her by hand.
We went without sleep and talked with her late
into the night. We rubbed her tired bones and kissed
her brow and watched for signs that would tell us

when it was time to carry her like a dying child
to the door where this life ceases to be and the next
begins without us. Unlike the others, we were not
told about the fact that our mother had died.

We made sure that her passing was free of stress,
unimpeded by fear or anxiety, unfettered by pain
and easy as drifting into a final sleep. Sometimes
I think we must grieve for ourselves as well.

copyright 2002 Fredrick Zydek