Dear mother

My wedding dress lay on the pillowed wicker love seat in the corner of our bedroom where my husband had taken it off me a few nights earlier. Unopened wedding gifts piled on and around our dining room table amidst the clutter of days and nights entertaining guests, the wedding preparations and my bridal bouquet. One year ago today I packed my bags, loaded the truck and drove the pass to be with mom. She'd miraculously held on to life, rallied broken bits of her mind to be present at my wedding. Earlier that morning Mom told Debbie she was scared. Debbie comforted her with bible verses; a gift powerfully perfect as the verses wouldn't have been in my bag of tools. I dropped my belongings behind the pretty rose quilted king size abandoned bed and curled up next to my impossibly tiny mother, held her hand and napped with her. Little red rosebuds sprinkled the sheets we'd purchased for her hospital bed. The rose sheets would be washed and re-washed, the hospital bed moved from the bedroom to the living room, mom carried in my arms between rooms. Seven days and nights I kept vigil, the angel sisters Debbie and Linda by our side. Mom became smaller, then smaller still. Memories of horrifically difficult moments haunt me, vivid in detail, laden with emotions and smells. Delicate slices of pure grace memories fill me with gratitude. Sincerely a privilege to tend my purple-glitter-toed mother. Dear soul. Sweet beauty.