by Ann Taylor

Created on: February 24, 2009   Last Updated: March 04, 2009

Facing Death

ICU is cold and constant,
no rest for the wanting, only
poking and prodding, and
interrogations and discussions,
no choices,
no hope.

What about hospice -
isn't that an alternative?
An alternative
to what, I think,
it's still
death.

But without tubes
and monitors and constant
interruptions. Please,
let me die
in peace and
quiet.

The trees sway, the curtains
move rhythmically,

refreshing and
comforting
in her
waiting.

I want to lie beside her,
my arms wrapped around
her, like we did when
I was young, and scared,
afraid,
needing her.

Mom, it's December 31st!
We will buy party hats
and blowers, a bottle
of wine for us,
a high-ball
for you.

A great idea! But
we must be quiet,
there are
people trying
to die
here.

Moments of sadness,
frustration perhaps, a touch
of anger. I can only imagine
her thoughts as my
own heart
breaks.

I will be back in about
100 years you know. Just as
a tree falls and
releases its seeds,
so shall I
live again.

I will find you,
you will be my mother
again, and I,
a better daughter,
now that I truly
see you.

The nurses carry their
faith with them like
a rock, solid
and permanent,
warm and
unyielding.

Come here, it is time.
I am not afraid, just lay
here with me. Remember
this feeling, carry it
with you,
forever.

Her body, now a great
machine, achieving its
last and most perfect
performance, she the master
of ceremony who watches
from above.

The pavilion comforting
beneath the stars.
I feel her freedom, her
energy pulsating
through my veins. I must
dance, dance, dance.

She is gone, free to float
among the clouds, and walk
through heavens gate,
where she is now, and
everywhere
with me.

My heart is joyful, my fear
dispersed, my love
enhanced, my faith
grounded and oh,
so proud
am I.

Genetic strands that bind
us, memories engraved
upon my soul
that lives forever
bound
to her.

I carry her torch.
Its light reflects
her. She is the colors
of the rainbow, a great
arc surrounding me, always
with me.

Rest, sweet lady, rest.
A toast to you - until we
meet again! On Pleiades
perhaps, where mothers
and daughters go.
Sleep, my lady, sleep.

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