My Mamas dying. I knew Id have to say these words one day. Even when I was just a small boy when Mama would sleep with me when I had nightmares, Id always ask her to try to live forever. I knew it was impossible, but she was Mama. Id rest my head against her arm like a pillow, and she would leave it there even if it fell numb. She was Mama. My strong Mama. But Mamas dying. Its the words Ive known for a while now. I knew them when I started double-checking to see if the front and garage doors were locked. I knew them when I started making my own meals, cleaning the house, picking up habits Mama was known for. Its the words no one wants to admit or say or believe, but everyone knows. Everyone should know. It isnt doctors playing God by labeling life expectancy as a few months. I can no longer hide behind false hopes and denial. As I sit here and hold her brittle hands, watch her belly raise up and down as she puffs out air, as I ask for Mama and receive nothing but silence - I know the truth. My Mama is dying. Of course, theres only One who knows the time of her death. It may be a year, month, day, hour, minute, second. And of course, we all must pray for the best. Those prayers have weight and purpose and power of which I do not deny. But at the end of the day, I cant use those prayers as shields from the truth. I can only use them to help the truth. And the truth is Mamas sick, and Mamas dying. In these final years, months, days that feel like moments, I only hope that she forgives me for my shortcomings, for anything Ive done that offended her or hurt her. I hope she knows how much I love her, and how much I grieve every moment I could have spent with her but didnt. Mama, you raised me when I was small, and I can only hope that that small boy you raised has made you a proud mother. Thats my only wish. I will always love you, Mama, and for that reason, you will live forever.
Posted on: Wed, 13 Aug 2014 03:13:39 +0000