I sat with her while she died
talking to her
more than I ever did
when she was alive
while the shallow breathing slowed
and the raspy moans sank
back into her lungs.
Meanwhile, the machines
recorded her progress
bleeping and beeping and buzzing –
and I was (for a moment)
envious of that last morphine shot she got
because the pain she was leaving behind
and her daughter’s mourning was more
than I knew how to address.
