I hover over her,
squint at her tilted back and crooked neck.
Are you comfortable?
She looks up at me.
Are you?
No.
I tug and pull and fluff her pillows.
How is that–
are you comfortable now?
She looks up at me.
Are you?
Yes, I’m better.
And we laugh.
She hates this,
this lying back and letting go,
this being done for.
It’s a gift you can give, I say,
to let others do for all you’ve done,
and she nods and thinks on that.
We’ve had some good heart to hearts, haven’t we? she asks.
And I nod and think on that.
Later Sissy and I take her out in the recliner,
and I lie flat on my back
on the pavement,
and she shakes her head at me.
I wonder at the blur of life
and how small I am
and consider eyes that see
and things unseen
unless I’m flat
looking up.
And I see light,
and the hard becomes
more comfortable.
Joining with my High Calling family as we reflect on this month’s photoplay and poetry prompts.
Yes!
The letting go from soft to hard
hard to soft
sinking in
allowing Him
love and prayers…
So moving. Stopped me in my tracks.
That repetition:
“She looks up at me.
Are you?”
To me it was a picture of persistent selflessness.
This leaves a lump in my throat and my heart understands you both.
Beautiful poem & photos. I especially love the first photo.
I’m praying for you.
Yes, focus on the light. It does make hard things more comfortable.
Praying, Sandy.
I saw Susie’s comment and had actually been thinking the same thing before I headed “south” after reading your post. Lovely… and lots of kindness on your part.
…It’s a gift you can give, I say
to let others do for all you’ve done…
It’s also a quietly strong testimony of your mother’s great success at raising such a beautiful, loving, nurturing daughter. One who is by her side… no matter what (the way, I presume, she was for you.) This interaction with her… you will never forget it. It is as if I am holding my momma’s face again as I tenderly hold this writing.
You know that “cloud of witnesses who have gone before you?”… well, I guess some of us who have walked this road before are still here on this earth, quietly, fervently cheering you on with prayer and love… I hope you can feel my hug.
Sandy, love that you see the moments of beauty in the midst of this hard place. Such a gift, this time — unhurried, unrushed, unplanned, unexpected time — with your mom. Precious. Time and words and touch forever woven into the fibers of your heart…little glimpses so tenderly shared with us from your sweet and gentle heart.
Really enjoyed the pix so much. Very beautiful post all the way around
A beautiful description in both prose and photos. It is wonderful you can spend this time with your mom. Lifting your mom, you and your family in prayer.
And the hard becomes more comfortable…. Yeah. That’s it.
Praying for you, loving on you, from afar. ((HUGS))
Oh, Sandy – so beautiful. Thank you for making the most of this time you’ve been given – something not many of us get, actually. As hard as it is, it is such a sacred place, isn’t it? Exhausting, frustrating at times, lonely, too. But sacred, holy, breath-taking. Praying for you all as you walk through it together.
I don’t know how to respond to each of you individually. But I’m holding you all in my heart and thanking Him for the gift of you.
And the tissue. Reaching for that now. Because of your hearts, your words, your prayers.
With these lines:
“…looking up
and I see light
and the hard becomes
more comfortable.”
you’ve said a lot! Wishing you joy in what sounds like a difficult time.