When death is a friend
They say, “She’s at rest.”
Their bald mother lays with distorted breast.
Breasts that fed
Removed.
Arms that held
Motionless.
Her warm smile
Her voice
Her love
Locked in the vault of the soul.
Her children’s liminality has ended.
Today, they are only parents
They can throw away the adult diapers
The myriad of pills and medical terms.
The night watch.
Both relief and grief
As they say “she’s at peace.”
Ten years she battled.
Vomiting.
Fatigue.
Incontinence.
Tears and more tears mingled with fear.
Doctors, doctors and — as it spread — more doctors.
“She battled for us” they said.
“For her grandchildren and children”
The end wasn’t met with a fight
But embraced
Because death was the savior.
Death the midwife of peace and freedom
From the pains of a broken body.
“We are at peace”, they say
After a last look, they walk away.
