In true art, the end is begining
" I just sat there. I just held Shelby's hand. There was no noise, no tremble, just peace. Oh god. I realize as a woman how lucky I am. I was there when that wonderful creature drifted into my life and I was there when she drifted out. It was the most precious moment of my life.
Death is like the month of March. Sometimes it comes in like a lion, other times like a lamb. Never is the month of March the same, the weather can snow, shower with rain, rip through like a tornado.
Jack came to us, last Thursday. He rode in a shinny white convertable during the memorial day parade. Fought in WWII, had six grandchildren. I guess you didn't know that. It was 1:00 a.m. when he left, four days after he came up to the neurosurgery unit. Bob was with his family, and son. Mary waited till her daughter was out of the room. The only person there was an IV tech who she never looked at twice.
Grandma was the tornado. Fast, furious, without warning. Unexpected. 8 hours of trying to track me down, frantic phone messages of "CALL YOUR FATHER ASAP", one right after another. Grandpa was expected. Softly, quitely, with luthern hymes sung by this daughters. Rosemary went alone.
And each time I stood on that ground, on the hill overlooking the town of 900, I took a deep breath, looked to the sky, blinded by sunlight ricochet'ing off cherry wood..... "i am 1,000 winds that blow, I am the frost on the fallen snow...do not stand on my grave and cry, I am not there, I did not die..."
Max, I know your being a stinker: hogging the covers, and being home-land security. Max-garden is in full bloom with iris's and dafidills. and on your walk, you stop at every tree to take a sniff. And when your not patroling the heavenly sky's, you did what you did best, SLEEP. Anywhere, and everywhere....may peace be with you Maxi-pad, many people miss you down here!
Death is like the month of March. Sometimes it comes in like a lion, other times like a lamb. Never is the month of March the same, the weather can snow, shower with rain, rip through like a tornado.
Jack came to us, last Thursday. He rode in a shinny white convertable during the memorial day parade. Fought in WWII, had six grandchildren. I guess you didn't know that. It was 1:00 a.m. when he left, four days after he came up to the neurosurgery unit. Bob was with his family, and son. Mary waited till her daughter was out of the room. The only person there was an IV tech who she never looked at twice.
Grandma was the tornado. Fast, furious, without warning. Unexpected. 8 hours of trying to track me down, frantic phone messages of "CALL YOUR FATHER ASAP", one right after another. Grandpa was expected. Softly, quitely, with luthern hymes sung by this daughters. Rosemary went alone.
And each time I stood on that ground, on the hill overlooking the town of 900, I took a deep breath, looked to the sky, blinded by sunlight ricochet'ing off cherry wood..... "i am 1,000 winds that blow, I am the frost on the fallen snow...do not stand on my grave and cry, I am not there, I did not die..."
Max, I know your being a stinker: hogging the covers, and being home-land security. Max-garden is in full bloom with iris's and dafidills. and on your walk, you stop at every tree to take a sniff. And when your not patroling the heavenly sky's, you did what you did best, SLEEP. Anywhere, and everywhere....may peace be with you Maxi-pad, many people miss you down here!