(I wrote this poem as my mother lay on her deathbed.)
Someday your mother, young and strong,
Telling you “No” all day long,
Will be in an unlikely state.
You will cherish it if not too late.
Her once robust and lively frame
Will lay there weak and unashamed.
Her hands, that were once creative, strong,
Will rest there limply in your own.
Her words, once strong and unafraid
Will languish, then remain unsaid,
As her eyes, that once glanced down at you,
Are raised imploring, begging you
To see and hear the things she can’t express
And communicate to others her heart’s quest.
And you will treasure every breath, and every smile, every tear,
As you lovingly whisper through your tears,
The words you don’t want left unsaid,
The love you haven’t yet expressed,
And you treasure the moments spent with her,
And you pray for her and read the Word.
You are precious, Mother Mine,
I wish only to have more time.
—Norma Miller