The Last Night That She Lived

Oh mom-last night I was sick and my nose was plugged up and I could not breathe so I had to breathe with my mouth open and my throat got sore and I was so miserable.  All I could think about was your last 3 days and how you labored, with your mouth open too, and dehydrated, and how miserable you must have been.  But then, "death is swallowed up in victory."  That is what it is, mom.  You are free.  Your trials are over.

I found this Emily Dickinson poem last night upon planning Christina's school for the week.  It took my breath away and I had to reread it several times.  I cannot believe how almost perfectly it describes that last night with you.  Here goes:


The last night that she lived
It was a common night
Except the dying-this to us
Made nature different.

We noticed smallest things-
Things overlooked before
By this great light upon our minds
Italicized-as 'twere.

As we went out and in
Between her final room
And rooms where those to be alive
Tomorrow were-a blame

That others could exist
While she must finish quite
a jealousy for her arose
So nearly infinite.

We waited while she passed
It was a narrow time
Too jostled were our souls to speak
At length the notice came.

She mentioned, and forgot
Then lightly as a reed
Bent to the water, struggled scarce-
Consented, and was dead.

And we-we placed the hair
And drew the head erect
And then an awful leisure was
Belief to regulate.

Wow, just wow,  mom.  This says it so well from our perspective.  I wonder what your poem would be like from heaven?