Forlorn Hope?

Sat by what may well be my mother’s death bed, day after day, hopes dashed, raised then dashed again, I am utterly drained, not knowing how long I can bear it. I notice how I cope with life by creating little certainties everywhere I can in a forlorn attempt to control my world. This way I can adjust to almost anything, with profound loss, financial or human, but without it I am afraid, lost at sea in my tumultuous world.

So these last four days have been horrendous, first peacefully accepting her pending death after the initial shock of her fall and pneumonia, orchestrating loving visits by family and friends, then the unexpected prospect of recovery coupled with guilt for seemingly giving up all hope, a pattern only to be repeated all over again, leaving me uncertain as to what to say or do and emotionally crushed, as I sob openly.

An unlikely messenger tells me to take care of myself, raising awareness of my own vulnerability, not only in the face of death but in my life in general. Certain in my mother’s love, I know now to nurture myself as I know she would were she still able. Maybe she still is as I recall, tired, laying my head on her bed, holding her hand to comfort her and transmit love and light to heal her when suddenly she gently pulls away her hand and took my upper arm to comfort me! It seems there truly is no love more selfless and unconditional than a mother’s love for her child.