... butterflies in limbo ...
i put my hand on her forehead and it felt so warm to my touch. Too warm; fevered and her body is restless. This is my mother and as she weakens, her features return to their once-slim lines and i see how she used to be. my heart is breaking.
When i returned home from the weekend there was a feeble "it's just me, janine" on my answering machine. That hurt even more, that i wasn't here to answer the phone. And yet i know she would have been angry with me if i had been here. No matter what mistakes were made in the past, she always wanted me to be happy.
Even as the end approaches, she still valiantly tried to use her beloved phone. She always was heavily addicted to the usage of telephones. We used to tease her about it a lot. Used to tell her in healthier days that we would be burying her with it. Now she can't even hold one. Or speak.
i put my hand on her forehead and gently ran my hand back against what little bits of hair she has left. i didn't think she knew i was there at first. But then, as i was talking, her eyebrows raised briefly and her eyes fluttered. i am not positive she knew it was me, but my soul needs to believe that she did.
i told her it was time to let go. That it's okay now.
i hope it is.