They thought you were simple,
Your own family, who took you out of school
At age 12 and took you
To a witch doctor who said since you wheezed,
You'd be better off five feet underground.
And because you didn't read well or make jokes,
Flirt like your younger sisters,
And had small ankles that often faltered
While walking over the slightest crack,
You were always the subject
Of hushed concerns.
So when the cancer came
Everyone was afraid to tell you,
For fear that the truth would shatter you.
I was called from three thousand miles away
To break your heart
Because no one else
Had the heart to tell you
And because I am your daughter.
But I saw the mother I knew
And the graceful way
You gently lived,
Knowing how to let go of what you didn't need.
So when you started to see images on the walls
That weren't there
You knew it was time.
It was an uncomplicated event,
Transparent and smooth.
You stood up firmly and walked me
To your bedroom
Where you laid down and took off your wedding ring
That you had promised would be mine
When you died.
You smiled and said, This is it.
You were eloquent and powerful.
No, You Weren't Supposed to Die Like This.
Dear visitors who prefer looking at pictures:
I am having technical difficulties uploading photographs. Forgive me for the lack of visuals. I hope to resume my usual posting of images next time.