I have food reheating in the microwave.
Laptop open, working when I don’t need to work
because there will always be work
and I have to keep busy.
Dad knocks at my door, “your mom has a fever of 100.8, but she doesn’t want to go to the hospital.”
She doesn’t want to go outside. It’s too cold. She’s already cold.
But there’s nothing left of her to keep warm with. Skin and bones can’t insulate your soul.
Everything feels petty in life right now but this.
Cold cloth on her forehead, extra blanket on her bed. Hot water bottle under her feet.
Make her comfortable, try to help the fever break.
“I just want you to know before it’s too late to say it,” she tells me. “I’m not giving up, but I…” she looks at me and I know what she means without words. “I love you very much my baby bear.”
And I’m reduced to silence and snot, searching for her hand to hold but its tucked too tightly under covers.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t do more,” I tell her. Immediately regretting every time I was too busy or too stressed or too tired or too busy with other things.
Too consumed by activities that mattered less than her life.
“No, you’ve always done so much. You’re very special to me, you’re my baby. So wonderful, we got you right. You have a special light about you, you’re so amazing. You don’t need anybody else, you’re enough on your own.”
My touch hurts her bones. Everything hurts her bones.
I want to wrap myself around her, hold her tight. Give her some comfort like she’s done all my life. So much time I wasted. So much time I gave to insignificant people instead of her.
Was your life well spent is a question death can answer.
A life well spent with the ones you love.
