The shortest day of all 365 is here, and it is grey and dark and wet.
Last year on the longest night we took mom and dad to listen to Handel's Messiah.
It will forever be etched in my mind
as the beginning-of-the-end for mom.
The last outing, the last visit here.
The first inkling that something was very wrong.
Tomorrow the days will start to lengthen, and skies will clear as they always do.
*
I struggle with my reactions to losing mom.
The grief is still unfamiliar to me.
More tears were shed while mom was sick than after she died.
Her chair is empty, her voice quiet.
Her broken hands don't rub my cheek
and my little ones don't snuggle on her lap.
Some of the color goes out of the world when a loved one is gone.
***
The end-of-the-beginning is over for mom and she is safe in forever.
*****
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