Remembering my mother, who died a year ago this week. One of the poetry prompts for this week was “When I see my mother”; I am having difficulty writing a poem in response. Perhaps I could combine it with the prompt for the next day, “I am to blame”, and explore that in various aspects.
I still have the poster-sized photo montages (all 7, from Mother’s and Father’s memorial services) out in the front room, where I can see one or another. Oddly, that lessens feelings of loss. Provides a companionability and a lifting of the heart.
My mother, Rhoda Elleen Berry Wicker, died in the early evening, two days ago. It was two months after she went from home to emergency department by ambulance, after a fall, and then from hospital to nursing home, under the care of Hospice. I had the medical power of attorney, and Mother was not happy when my sister-in-law called me for the EMTs, to give them permission to transport her 25 miles to the nearest ER/hospital here in Fargo, where Al and I live. Not too much later, she no longer recognized me, but thought that I was her sister Alberta.
When she died, it had been some time since I had visited her room and found her awake, although I know she had interacted with staff throughout the past week. There was no marked decline noted by staff; she slipped away, just quit breathing. And nobody would have noticed…
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