miracle,hungry,ghost,pray,prayer,sad,death,dying,passing
Mum is crying
the way she cried four years ago
her eyes
are puffy and red
the way they were
while we sat in the waiting room
outside the ICU.
She reminds me of a little girl
who just lost her cat
to the tire of some vehicle.
Except she didn’t lose her cat four years ago
she lost her brother
to the strokes that tore apart his already swollen brain
followed by his ejection, head first, through the thick windshield
of his old beater car.
And now
she isn’t losing her brother
she’s losing her father
to ten years of cancer, pneumonia, and breathing tubes.
She tells me, “He’s had a hard life. I saw this day coming, I shouldn’t be so upset.”
And I tell her, “He’s your dad. It’s OK to be upset.”
And she cries.
Right now, Mum isn’t my mum
she’s a little girl
watching the tire of some vehicle
roll toward her naïve little cat
unable to move that rubber wheel even an inch
forced to watch what she’s already seen.
And I can’t imagine
watching someone you love struggle for life
so you can see their face
just one more day
and being unable
to set them free.
So she prays
for a miracle.
The way she did four years ago.