Written on 3-29-11
And as she lies on her death bed in her cream colored gown, eyes paled grey and hair as white as the walls she painted her room years before, her final thoughts are:
“My life has been filled with many hopes and dreams
and I can’t help but wonder why I still feel so empty.
I’ve had many known ones come in and reminisce about
the times that I had with them. Then they would say their
goodbyes and left the room with tear-filled eyes looking
back at me. All wanting me to be able to pull through but
I know that won’t happen, as do they know, too. But the
whole time I was well and living, they didn’t want me, or
so I thought. Never called me one time once I was in this
home. Never even bothered to send a single birthday card
or even visit and check up on me. Now I know that it’s my
time to go, and I have completely accepted that. Maybe in
my next life, the people who will become my family will care
and want me to be around on the holidays. And maybe, just maybe,
they will love me. But not for whom I am, but for the experiences I bring
with me.”
That’s when her only son walked in the room of light. He sat next to the bed and held her hand, looked into her eyes and said, “I’m sorry”. If only he had spoken sooner, for she had died after he had entered. And with tears streaming down his face, he kissed her forehead and went to go tell his kids that they wouldn’t be able to meet their grandmother.
