The day my grandmother died,
the world didn’t stop turning.
Clocks didn’t stop
as she inched toward death,
helped along by morphine.
It took almost three days.
Her children, those living,
sat in a vigil by her bedside,
and said prayers.
It’s too much,
my father cried – too much, all within six weeks.
He cried, while stroking her hair.
telling her it was okay to let go.
(alternating tears with a chuckle:
you’re a tough old bird, mom)
And her breathing slowed,
her pain dulled.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale –
then nothing.
It was so quiet.
And that is how a woman’s life ended
after 92 years.
And that’s how it happened –
the day my grandmother died.
– 2003
Pocket Sized 