Nothing compares to a mother’s love. My mother’s love. And as I stand here hugging this pillow I know it to be the real truth.
She has always been a part of my life. She gave me life. Growing up, I never held much store by the fact that she carried me inside her for nine months. To look at her now, and to look at me, it all seems so unlikely, impossible even...but she did it. That is fact...But she gave me so much more than that...and it is for all those millions of tiny reasons that I am standing here now.
We talked about this moment long before it ever arose, neither of us ever believing it would come to this...and now it has, I can’t fail her.
I sit by her side and watch the faint movement of the blankets as her chest barely rises and falls in silent breath. I have held my breath a thousand times in recent nights, hoping beyond hope....She’s a strong woman my mother, far stronger than she ever knew.
I watch the lines on her face as they begin to smooth themselves. She knows it is almost time, I am sure of that, and she is ready. The skin of her eyelids is almost translucent and, although her eyes are closed, I can feel her watching me, looking at me with approval.
Before I came here tonight, I went for a walk in the park. We used to go there. She loved that place. And in a quiet corner of that park, I threw back my head and looked to the heavens. I stood with my arms outstretched in a silent plea for strength, for once not caring how ridiculous I looked. The late evening sun stained the corner of the sky and soft warm drops of rain mingled with the silent tears on my cheeks.
One day, a long time ago, I made a promise and tonight I must keep it. I will not waver, this is the least I can do, my parting gift to the woman who loved me so much despite everything I ever did to test that love.
I came early tonight. I sat with her and held her hand, her skin felt so soft and fragile beneath my fingers and I was scared she might tear into a million pieces under my touch. I talked to her, in a voice so soft I doubt she heard a single word, but she knew what was in my heart. We had no further need for words....
Later I stripped her and washed her, sponging her delicately and drying her with the softest towels I could find, warmed for extra comfort. And I powdered her skin and inhaled the freshly washed scent of her as she leaned against me while I dressed her in clean cotton. Her favourite. And then I scooped her up in my arms and held her close, nuzzling her hair with dry lips that trembled. The chair was filled with plump cushions and as I laid her bones amidst their softness she sighed, her eyelids fluttered and she smiled at me. While she sat near the open window, the breeze playing lightly on her eager face, I stripped the bed and replaced the linen, plumping the pillows and arranging them carefully, her comfort uppermost in my mind.
When I was finished, I sat by her side and took her hand. We didn’t speak but she nodded, the slightest movement of her head and closed her eyes. As I took her in my arms once more and lifted her back to the bed she gasped, her eyes flew open, her hand reaching for mine in urgency. I feared I had hurt her but she gripped my fingers with a strength that surprised me and she gazed deep into my eyes, questioning. Tears prickled at my lashes and I couldn’t speak for fear of what I might say. I squeezed my eyes shut trying to keep the tears from falling and I nodded four times, just like we’d agreed. I felt her relax in my arms and she closed her eyes and the warm breath oozed softly from between her lips.
I lay her gently on the cool linen and covered her with the freshly laundered sheet. I sat on the stool by the bedside and held her hand once again. I stroked the papery skin on the back of her hand with my finger, tracing tiny circles between the wrinkles and veins. She lay still and I whispered to her.
She squeezed my hand, gave the sign, and I stood and picked up the pillow.
‘ I love you’
I told her and, although she didn’t utter a sound, I heard her reply
‘I know. I love you too’.
And I lay the pillow over her face and held it there. She didn’t struggle, she just accepted my gift. A parting gift from a daughter to her mother, in recognition of true love.
Five years have passed. The sequel to the award-winning Chapel of Eternal Love, this book revisits the same couples in the first book, and where the lives have taken them since they left the altar at The Chapel of Eternal Love
A homonymless man writes shows what it's like to look up the laid he skirts when you’re lying prone(d) to the sidewalk, beer / joint / needle dangling from your hand /lips / arm.
The deep-dive literary meditations presented as stories, poems, and essays in The American Poet Who Went Home Again, A Mosaic of My Soul at Work, have captivated and inspired readers ever since its first paperback publication in 2008.
