No, a finite line.
A beginning, a middle and an end.
Definite points in time.
We travel this line, all of us.
Some don’t make it past the beginning while others sojourn successfully to the end.
Today I fed my mom. I cut her food up into little pieces and tried to coax them into her mouth. I took the straw of her water cup and gently caressed her lip to stimulate her to take sips.
Today I helped my mother to the commode. Her legs too unstable to support herself, the nurse and I were her legs and her balance.
Today I listened as my mother mumbled words quietly to herself, over and over like a child practicing nursery rhymes.
Today I realized my mother has reached the end of her line. Her gallant fight is ending and the white flag is being waved gently right now.
She whispers that she is waiting. I ask who she is waiting for, she doesn’t know.
I know she promised my sister she’d wait for her to come home from her trip.
I wonder if she is also waiting for her dad, my grandfather to guide her.
All I can do is sit. And watch. And hold her hand.
I save the tears for the car ride home.
My mommy is dying. There is no denying this fact anymore.
Today I realized that I’m probably going to spend the rest of my life missing my mom.
I’m not ready.
I know no one is ever ready.
But I’m really not ready.
I’ve already been missing her, her life essence gone a few months ago. But at least she’s been here in physical form.
I still need my mom.
I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like without her.
I can’t imagine my children someday having to go through this with me.
Today I realized, as I sat at the hospital helping my mom, just how bittersweet that walk down the line of life really is.
From beginning to middle to end.