We gather around her bed
unsure, uneasy of ourselves
and the new roles we play.
Sons and daughters,
grandchildren one day,
now wary members of the deathwatch.
A remembered moment, shared,
brings hesitant laughter
and the mood breaks from somber
to sadly nostalgic.
We laugh, we cry, we watch, we wait.
A grandson holds her hand,
a daughter rubs her leg,
moisture on a swab for her mouth.
Another sibling arrives,
we wait quietly while he adjusts.
More tears, hugs and stories.
The home’s staff members visit
to share their stories, share a kiss
on her weathered cheek.
She never wakes, but we know she hears --
We tell her it is time to go
We tell her Dad waits for her, arms outstretched,
We tell her to be unafraid
We tell her we will be OK.
Just after lunch, as the nursing home
settles down for afternoon naps,
The sun, brilliant in her window,
(the window left open by a nurse
who always opens windows for
departing souls), 
her
breath
slows --  
each
one
more
shallow
until
there
is
nothing
left.
Mother has gone home.