It's Not About Me

Time to introduce myself to a few home-truths in these cruel days of the shadow of death:

 

 

IT'S NOT ABOUT your instinctive need to comfort her when she cries out in the night yet wants for no comfort and will not be touched;

IT'S NOT ABOUT cleaning the house for her when it's already spotless and she never asked you anyway;

IT'S NOT ABOUT seeing if she's taken her medicine when she knows how to do that almost too well;

IT'S ABOUT GIVING THIS DYING DOVE HER TATTERED WINGS AND SETTING HER INTO THE WIND TO TAKE THAT FINAL FLIGHT, BEFORE SHE RESTS IN THE ARMS OF THE UNIVERSAL ALL.

To Raise You ....

You sit in your corner chair, pillows, blankets, medicine...

You smile. My heart feels a tug and I pray God to humble me in this task. Time to help you up.

I open my arms like an encircling embrace of strength and love, and you hesitantly reach around my neck -

As you rise, your o-so-slender body slips from me

like a long white feather from a dove's wing.

You cannot rise. You are back sitting again, sad.

“It's about what you CAN do”, I say softly, “not what you can't. Let's try again,” You moan but try once more, and

After a few attempts you finally rise into my strong arms
and I release you to your world.

A world of medicine bottles and bandages, pain and frustration at a life which is as fickle as it is glorious.

Your ocean of friends love you almost as much as I. This makes you happy, and you connect each day to these people of your heart.

We will do this, you and I, like sisters of another world who need each other to be complete.

Take your time, my sister.  Take your time in these, your last earth-days.   Never will I leave your side.

It is you who must leave me .....