The Mother Who Used to Know Me

The mother who used to know me
has gone
and in her stead, sits a woman who stares at me
the same way she does with strangers.

The mother who used to know me
has gone
and shows irritation whenever I touch her
who are you to dare, she wants to say.

The mother who used to know me
has gone
and no longer tries to respond
whenever I look at her and tell her my love.

The mother who used to know me
has gone
and tries to understand why it is
that I of course smile at her so sweetly

The mother who used to know me
has gone
and my heart revolts against such cruel parting
that leaves me wanting so much.

The mother who used to know me
has gone
and I cry tears of sorrow
for her who still seems to exist, yet no longer is.

The mother who used to know me
has gone
and all the wisdom I thought I knew
no longer seems so relevant. 

Saying Goodbye

It is now clear that my mother is dying, and a new phase has started. The nurse said it could be a matter of days, weeks, or months. The good news is she is now back home, in the comfort of her room. She recognized me when I arrived today, and is now lying in bed with her eyes closed, her breathing irregular and labored. I am planning to return to the US the day after tomorrow. This may be the last time I see her.

I draw comfort from the love that flowed so freely between us during the last few days. I was able to receive her love, in all its purity, and I know she got the same from me. It has been like falling in love all over again, an experience that blew my heart open wide, and that I will cherish forever.

Now, comes my part in allowing her to let go. Not insisting that she eat or drink, not smothering her with touch that is now painful to her, not burdening her with mental clinging. Sitting by her side, I go to my body, and find the breath, moving through much heaviness. The grief in my heart is for me to have only, and not share with her. Sitting by her side, I pay close attention to her breathing, and I practice receiving it gently into my own breath. The same way she birthed me, now I am helping her slip away.