My drive to San Francisco!

A poem on My mothers Death

Thanks for letting me share this with you. I hope that everyone is happy and well.

Our mother died today
1736 time marked out by her last breath
So our memories flow freely now
Unencumbered by her rattling breaths
A valiant heart struggling to maintain
What cannot be.

Memories of her sun soaked tea
Sweet pickled watermelon rinds
Endless baked treats brought to
Endless 4-H meetings
Ferried about as we were by her
Our lives hers
Her life was ours and now…
Now we are alone with her body
And our memories
Of what it is
To be our mothers sons.

David Michael McCullough

Toward the very end my mother would try so hard to say thank you to anyone who helped her. I'm here next to her at this moment, holding her hand at 3:30 a.m. Death seems a peculiar kind of loneliness. She is not alone but is on this journey.

My mother's brain so beautiful in it's constant creativity. Now invaded by bony cancer sending her thoughts careening into unimaginable places. Weaver, writer, artist, teacher, cook, wife, mother, sculptor and more. Not yet gone but fading away as I watch and wait.

At times it seems these days pass as if in a dream while one close to you dies.