She lay in the bed she would die in,
The bed that gave her broken body comfort;
Her heart beating 72 per minute as programmed,
Her mind and body, making their last rounds.
After the priest came, she closed her eyes
And spoke no more words.
One day responding to questions,
The next gone too far to speak.
She had caretakers, special earthly angels,
Watching over her needs.
She would not eat anything more in her life.
And neither would she drink.
She awoke thirsty, but refused water.
We both knew that water
Would sustain her earthly existence.
Her life belongings "dis-packed"
She was ready to go now.
It was later
On a summer Saturday afternoon.
She took her last breath.
After 92 years of life, my Mother was gone.
I had seen her let go, bit-by-bit,
Like my Tinker Toys spilled out of a box.
I could not make the pieces come together.