posted on Nov, 20 2015 @ 09:06 PM
I think of you in the mornings.
Especially on Sunday. Sunday was a special day.
We did not hurry along on that day, we took our time.
You read your Bible while I cooked your breakfast. You always loved when I cooked for you. Your hands would tremble while you raised the spoon to your
mouth. You would look up to see if I was watching you. While you ate, I gathered your fresh and clean clothes, powders, lotions, and such.
I would peel your clothes off as you were unable, now, to lift your arms. I would see the flesh that once held muscles of a strong woman who worked in
the gardens and kept the big house. Who cared for us through the years.
I would take you to the bath.
I would put you in the chair and start the water. Not too warm now.
You would wash as you were able, I would always rinse your hair for you.
You never wanted to give up any independence but, at times you were so weak.
I would wash your foot on the leg that refused to move anymore. When you were done, and the chilly air was enough we would dry you off and take you
from the chair to another that was waiting.
I would dry you off and powder you up. You were always concerned about the nephrectomy scar. We would put on your face cream. No one believed your
age! Put your new and fresh clothes on and dry your hair.
Your skin was so thin, just draped across your bones. I would ask if you liked your hair. You always said it was perfect!
You were so proud when you came out of the bathroom. Everyone told you how pretty you looked.
You and I would spend the day. Reminiscing, looking at photos, planning dinners, dreaming. Oh I miss you so…
I can smell your perfume today. It isn’t Sunday. Why are you so heavy on my mind…always.
I talk to you every day. But, you don’t answer. Where are you?
Where are you?
Can’t you see that I need you now?
Can’t you feel it?
Is all that’s left is this pile of ashes?
Is this it?
What am I supposed to do?