Written Long Ago - Posting Now.

My life changed three years ago, April 10. Three years ago says, “Time to move on”. My flesh argues, “It seems like yesterday”. The clock shows 12:00 noon and the sun outside, brightly shining. I sit curled on the blue flowered couch that presses against the white bare wall, on the seventh floor of the Hospital. This floor designated as “Hospice”. People went there to die I didn’t know that. I watch longingly at this frail body, grasping for her everything breath; in hopes, the life changing before me would be a dream. At 2:30 that dream became a reality.
Three days later, a light rain permeates the city limits, a soft breeze to symbolize a welcome home. Many people pile into this place to pay their respect to a woman who brought joy and love to those she knew. Some came with tears and others, brought sighs of relief that graced their weary brows. This woman, too young to die. At 42, no one knows why cancer came and took her away, it just happens. Our cells begin to mutate and some are fortunate to prevail. She did, five long years, but that “stuff” (chemotherapy and radiation) kills all the good in you as well. Cancer, a losing battle, in this case. People knew her time was coming, but she fought a good fight – I thank her for that.
Listen. Songs begin to pour through speakers. Her favorite song, “Because you Loved Me” by Celine Dion is playing in the background. In a single file line one-by-one friends and family came. Some would stop and shake their heads as a single tear fell from their eyes others would not look her way – that memory they could not embrace. Many could not move paralyzed with so many emotions. A slight murmur begins to fill the vacant holes of sadness, “She’s in a better place, she’s not hurting anymore.”
The casket closes; six men dressed in black and white come to carry her to her final resting place. The preacher spoke again, “This is not a good-bye, but I’ll see you again”. With that I placed a single red rose on top of her casket, whispered, “I’m going to miss you, Mom”, and walked back to my car. The rain fell harder now: were they tears of sorrow? Did she cry when we all walked away?