One bright morning when this life is o'er, I'll fly away. I'll fly away, yes, I'll fly away.
On the brilliantly sunny morning of April 12, my mother passed away quietly.
It was not an unexpected death, and she lived a long mostly happy life during which she worked hard, raised a family, administered sound advice, cooked well, and looked good. She would have been 94 in May. It wasn't until her last few years of hearing and memory loss that she began to slip away, and even then she could put up a pretty good semblance of normalcy.
I am glad I was able to see her in February, as she waited her life out in a small home for patients with memory issues. With the utmost seriousness she took my gift of a springer spaniel stuffed toy, stroking its ears as though it were yet another of the many dogs she had known over the decades.
As an adult child you know you will lose your parents. It has finally happened to me. I find myself in a little boat of my own, where I've been dozing. But the slender rope that used to attach it to the pier? It's come loose and I'm strangely afloat.