Passing

You are going, mom. I am home. I walked into your room and saw your fragile form lying on the bed and I knew we did not have long. It is hard-to be in this house, with you yet not with you. You are everywhere-your paintings, cross stitch pictures, your plate collection, crystal, piano, pictures, sewing-everything, everywhere. It is all you-your house-the house you and dad built and you made a home. But you are not here-just your form. You did not recognize me but burst into a huge smile and then tears when you saw Rachel. Something about your grandkids touches deep places in your heart. Dad said he loved you and you said "I love you all so much." And then you went away again. You are barely eating and drinking-we syringe Gatorade into your mouth and try to shove some food in but it is rather barbaric. Why are we trying so hard to keep you here? Dad said it best: we are selfish. I told you it was ok for you to go-to go be with Jesus, and see Gram and Gramps and maybe Ves and Eva. God knows. I told you we would follow you there-save a place for us at the banquet table. Elise gave her permission before she left as well. I think you are waiting for Jeff before you go-there are some loose ends there-years of loose ends. I am praying he can talk with you. Then maybe you will feel free to fly away home. It is hard to watch you in this condition-so hard to see someone you love starve to death. It is hard to be with you and not with you. To be in your house, surrounded by evidences of your love-ghost house. It is hardest to see dad-to see his heart breaking and the depth to which he misses you already.