In our younger years, when mortality is simply a word in the dictionary, we tend to think life will never end . . . that we’re invincible . . . that those close to us are so resilient, they’ll live forever.
As we age—acquire maturity and wisdom—we recognize how fragile, and quick, life truly is. We blink, and 20 years have passed. Another blink, and 40 have whizzed by like a bullet train.
My mother’s 96 years ended in perpetual sleep this week. The tears have dried now, but the sadness—emptiness—will remain for a while.
We had an oil-and-vinegar relationship. And the last many years were not easy ones for me as a caregiver for a variety of reasons but now, that is—as the saying goes—water under the bridge.
I’m glad I was there at the end, to hold her hand as she traveled from this earthly realm to an otherworldly one.
Rest in peace, Mom. May God be with you.
The Writer's Grab-Bag 