It was only yesterday that you held me in your arms and marveled at my pouting lips, my chubby cheeks. You were enchanted by my wisps of hair and wondered why blonde, but then you remembered my mother’s bloodline and smiled; it would pass as the proper me emerge.

So many years later I hold you in my arms and marvel at how fragile you had become, how vulnerable; your brown eyes are devouring my face as if you were trying to extract every memory that we shared, every smile, everything. Where will you take these memories my dearest love?

You breathe erratically and we hold hands. You do not speak anymore, but I do. I speak and I tell you things. Things that you already know I am certain but I need to tell you anyway because it comforts me. Children are selfish. Parents always give of themselves and you are the example.

I am wishing to travel with you but instinctively know it’s a foolish whim, I think it anyway because I am afraid to lose you. I mustn’t panic. I scour your face, I burrow deep into your eyes, and I caress your face and arms very gently because your skin is now so sensitive.  Your lips seem dry and I touch them with cold cotton and you run your tongue over them.

You refuse to eat and I worry all the more. I make you an offer of your favorite thing and you refuse.

I leave you alone for the moment and when I walk away I wonder if that was our last moment in this reality.  I hurry back to find you, amazingly so, exactly where I left you. Like a newborn how could you walk away?  Mother is back to nurture you. I sing a song. Is it okay to sing my father? I sing anyway, I need to sing for you.

And then it was the moment, that grand and eloquent moment of disbelief when your last soft breath became air.

And just like that, we parted for now.

Lmh. 05/06/17