The Last Call

So like at times before,

Her eyes are closed, as if in sleep.

But laying my hand on her forehead

Does not open them this time.

In this hallowed moment,

As each breath still brings assurance

Of being able to say what needs to be said,

I bend over and talk into her ear,

"I love you . . . and

I wanted to show the cookbook to you.

Your recipe is in there, with a story."

I really don’t know why I thought

I’d always have another chance.

Last Friday she called,

Asking where her children were.

In her own manner, she complimented me,

And I told her she had given me a wonderful son.

I did not know it would be her last call.

The last call of untold calls over many years,

Asking, "What you doing?"

“What you making for supper?” or

“Where were you?”

I leave her bedside,

More hesitant to do so than ever before.

Why is it that in the final end

I know I’ve misinterpreted her care.

I see a face, a soul that truly loved.

I see a mother and Oma who’s done all she could

With the little she had, with all her heart.

And I leave the home, her threshold to heaven,

More fully aware that the things of this earth

Grow strangely dim

In the light of eternity awaiting us all.

Addendum

Our mom, mother-in-law, Oma and great-Oma went to meet her Lord and Maker at 8:45 AM today.

She will be  missed.