Mom is restless. She knows that she has a lot of outstanding business. She had a big scare and realizes that perhaps time is not on her side. She is tired. Her body is giving up on her. She is in discomfort. Her sight is a little blurred, her kidneys are refusing to work right, and she has a constant pain in her stomach.
Even now, as I watch her lying there on the bed, trying to get some sleep, she tosses and turns every few minutes. How can she rest? Her mind is on overload of all the things she has not done yet. Sleep will not come easy. She groans. Rest is not ready to give her that luxury. But soon, soon she will have all the peaceful rest she desires and needs.
Every so often she calls me to come. She wants to tell me something, a reflection, a memory, a past hurt, or just a story that she remembered that now needs to be told.
My heart is being tugged in all directions. I want her to be at peace, but I don’t want her to go just yet. Nevertheless, the final chapter must be told and the end will inevitably come.
Death is knocking at the door, but life is telling it to go away, I’m not ready for you yet. Death is not going to do that. It will stop knocking, but remain at the door, lingering, waiting, and knowing. It knows what it wants and will not leave until it gets what it has come for.